


Across the Sea I Would Sail with You

by vivilove



Series: Captain Snow and His Lady [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Age of Sail, Alternate Universe - Napoleonic Wars, Alternate Universe - Navy, Curious Sansa, Drama & Romance, Dream Sex, F/M, Feisty Sansa, Jon and the Starks Are Not Related, Masturbation, Slow Burn, awkward jon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-14 03:26:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 47,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9158113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/pseuds/vivilove
Summary: 1795-Jon Snow is a midshipman in the Royal Navy in the early years of the Napoleonic Wars.  The bastard son of a French Marquis, he has been raised by his maternal uncle.  He meets Miss Sansa Stark, the daughter of a retired and wealthy army colonel, Sir Eddard Stark.This is basically a totally self-indulgent series born out of my love for Patrick O'Brian's Aubrey-Maturin series and C.S. Forester's Hornblower books combined with my obsession with JonSa.  Just hoping there are other geeks like me out there!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter is mostly backstory for Jon and set up for him to meet Sansa in next chapter.

**September 1795**

_HMS_ _Queenscrown_ , off the coast of Spain

* * *

 

Mr. Midshipman Jon Snow paced the quarterdeck in the middle watch with his hands clasped behind his back. Here, in the middle of the night at least, he was the officer of the watch. The man at the wheel was silent as the ship ghosted along on the placid sea. Most of the men on duty were finding a nook on deck to catch some sleep while they could or talking quietly together. Other than the light at the binnacle, it was dark on deck. The light from the cabin’s skylight had went out a couple of hours ago as Captain Mormont had finally turned in. Snow paced on into the night wishing for his cot but he would not be relieved until the changing of the watch at 4AM. He’d be allowed four hours of sleep then if he was lucky. Sleep was a precious commodity for a sailor. Something not to be taken lightly since one could never tell when some crisis would rob a man of his chance to rest.

The first lieutenant, Mr. Thorne, came on deck and Snow moved over to the leeward side to allow the lieutenant the windward side. He wondered why Mr. Thorne was on deck in the middle of the night but certainly knew better than to ask. He hoped that Mr. Thorne would take no notice of him but his hopes were usually not met.

“Mr. Snow, report,” the lieutenant barked.

“Breezes variable, making 3 knots, course south-southwest, sir.”

“And?”

Jon cursed himself for forgetting. “No land or sails in sight, sir.”

Mr. Thorne always delighted in finding fault with him for some reason. It wasn’t _just_ him but sometimes he felt that he had personally offended Mr. Thorne simply by existing. Mr. Thorne said nothing of the omission though.

“We may get a breeze in the morning,” he commented.

Jon nodded before remembering himself. “Yes, sir,” he responded aloud.

Thorne gave him a close look. Jon at least felt confident that his appearance would not brook any rebuke. He was dressed in his best jacket, his white midshipman’s patches were clean, his breeches were presentable and his boots were properly blackened. His unruly mop of black curls was tied back in a queue and his hat was on. He was fairly certain his face was even clean. His hands not so much but he had them clasped behind his back still.

Thorne gave him a nod and said, “Carry on, Mr. Snow.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

In the middle of the night with a calm sea though and no duties assigned that meant he could return to pacing and thinking.

* * *

Jon Snow had had a late start joining the navy. His uncle, Lord Brandon Snow, had sent him away to school at a young age and preferred to keep his bastard nephew there and out of the way as much as possible. Jon had enjoyed escaping from his uncle’s house where he felt unwelcome most of the time, owing to the fact his uncle’s late wife, Lady Barbrey, had loathed his presence there. She had died shortly after he had joined the navy though.

Jon had enjoyed school and excelled in most of his studies. His Latin, Greek and Mathematics were well advanced compared to most boys his age but his French was passable at best. He also enjoyed reading. His Uncle Brandon had been horrified to discover that his nephew enjoyed adventurous novels and tried pushing philosophical and biblical works on him. Jon read everything his uncle instructed him to read. He didn’t mind but he still read his novels as well.

The baron made sure that his nephew’s education was not neglected in more practical ways either. He had a fencing master and a dancing master sent to work with the boy at school. The dancing master regretted that his pupil was rather inept but his fencing master was quick to praise his progress. His uncle also saw to it that Jon had a horse to ride when he was home and that he knew how.

“A gentleman must know how to ride properly,” were his uncle’s wise words on that subject.

However, as a somewhat shy and uncertain boy, Jon was often ill at ease in company and his uncle, a man without a shy bone in his body, had a hard time understanding it and simply barked at him to stop standing about stupidly and acting so bloody awkward all the time.

When Jon was twelve, he had asked about joining the navy like his other uncle, Benjen Snow. Lord Snow refused at first and stated that he did not wish his nephew to be as ignorant as his brother. Benjen _wasn’t_ ignorant but he had been at sea from the age of nine and there was little time for Latin, Greek and Philosophy at sea, or horses either. Benjen was a deplorable horseman but he was an excellent swordsman and a keen shot with rifle or musket as well.

At fifteen, his uncle had finally relented after increasing pressure from Benjen and Jon and agreed to allow Benjen to find Jon a ship to join. He said that Jon would need to find some sort of profession to support himself and the navy presented an acceptable choice.

Lord Snow was not an affectionate uncle but he loved Jon in his own way. It was unfortunate though that Jon was a constant reminder to his uncle of Jon’s mother, the Lady Lyanna. Lyanna had been a spirited young woman full of unorthodox notions for a lady. She had travelled to France with their father, Lord Rickard Snow, when she was fifteen and there she had met a French Marquis, Rhaegar Targaryen. They had developed an attachment…a highly unsuitable attachment. After the old Lord Snow had brought her home, Lyanna was found to be with child. The Marquis denied fathering the child and poor Lyanna had been sent to the country to bare the child out of the public eye. She had died giving birth to her bastard son not long after her father had passed. The boy’s father, Rhaegar, had been killed fighting in a duel before Jon’s first birthday. Brandon loved his sister dearly and, despite the scandal of her affair with a Frenchman and the bastard child, he had taken his nephew in to raise.

However, he constantly complained of penury and debt from keeping Jon up at school and maintaining his estate although Jon rather suspected it was just his uncle’s way of refusing him much in the way of pocket money. But Lady Barbrey had enjoyed living rather fashionably and Jon didn’t doubt she had managed to burn through a great deal of the family’s fortune before she died without giving Uncle Brandon an heir.

Captain Benjen Snow had a reputation as a dashing and daring frigate captain in the Royal Navy. He was the youngest of Lord Rickard’s children and he loved his nephew whole-heartedly, base-born status be damned. When Jon expressed an interest in the navy, Benjen was overjoyed. Brandon refused for a time but Benjen knew his brother would give in eventually and he asked his friend and former captain, Sir Jeor Mormont, to put Jon’s name in his books as a volunteer even while the boy was still at school, a common enough practice though technically illegal. Benjen would’ve done the same for Mormont except there were no young men in his family in need of a career…only girls. Therefore, at eighteen, Jon had five years credit of sea time even though he’d only been at sea since the age of fifteen.

He had joined the _Queenscrown_ at Spithead in March of ’92 and been quickly introduced to Captain Mormont before being scuttled below to the sty that was the cockpit, and his new home, to meet the other ‘young gentlemen.’ Jon was shy of the other boys at first. Meryn Trant was the eldest midshipman and the tyrant of the mess. At twenty, Mr. Trant was getting rather old to be a midshipman and it was whispered that he might have to try for Master’s Mate soon since he had failed the examination for lieutenant twice already. But if he couldn’t pass for lieutenant, it was doubtful he’d make much of a sailing master either. There were three other boys in the mess when he joined nearer Jon’s age; two of whom had been at sea since they were twelve, Grenn Stanley and Pypar Altin. The other boy, Samwell Tarly, was the younger son of a lord and about the fattest boy Jon had ever seen. But Sam was also friendly and had become Jon’s best friend aboard.

Jon had never been aboard anything larger than a river ferry and the 36 gun frigate seemed enormous to him when he joined. With 228 other souls aboard it was crowded though. He knew starboard from larboard when he joined but beyond that there were suddenly about 10,000 things he didn’t know. The sails and rigging were a complete enigma to him. The guns were fascinating but he didn’t know the first thing about firing them. There were hundreds of names for completely foreign objects to be learned and his teachers were not always the most patient of men with a fifteen year old newly-joined midshipman. There were boys aboard half his age that knew far more than he did about life aboard a man-o-war. Jon’s curiosity and intelligence aided him a good deal in those early days. His natural authority that had suffered in his uncle’s household started to assert itself in dealing with the men in his division. But Jon was never above himself either. Being a bastard had taught him a good deal about deference. All of the officers and men aboard knew he was the nephew of Captain Benjen Snow but it would never do for him to ‘top it the nob’ around men who knew far more about the sea than him.

The captain and the master were both impressed by his ability to solve the knottier navigational problems they threw at him during lessons thanks to his strong grasp of higher mathematics. And all the officers could see he was good at leading his men. Mr. Yoren, the lieutenant that Mr. Snow’s division fell under, was especially pleased with the young man’s potential. And while foremast hands (even gray beards of 60 years or more with decades at sea to their name) were subordinate to even the youngest and lowliest of the reefers, they could certainly make their divisional officer’s life a veritable hell if they did not respect him as a seaman and as an officer. But thanks to his innate abilities and willingness to learn, Jon never had too much trouble with his men. And in turn, he never acted like a tyrant.

* * *

 

Jon reflected on the past three years as he walked. He had come to accept the often uncomfortable and always damp if not down-right soaked conditions of life aboard. He had adjusted to the lack of privacy sharing the cockpit with four other men and two boys now, Jojen Reed and Olly Guymon, aged 13 and 12 respectively. He had come to accept the abundant but plain fare they were served daily. His mouth even began to water when the bell struck noon, knowing that it was time for his dinner. He had learned a great deal of seamanship and a great deal about being an officer. He had been at sea almost continuously for two years since the war began. The frigate had aided in the Brest blockade and Jon had not set foot ashore in seven months now.

The last time he was ashore, he and Grenn had been sent to help Mr. Yoren press some men for their ship at Plymouth. They had a bit of prize money in their pockets from a French privateer the ship had captured months ago and Mr. Yoren gave them a couple of hours of leave when their duties were done. Grenn had led him to a bawdy house saying it was past time Jon had a woman. Jon had been eager to go along at first but, once they had arrived and been led in to view the poor brutish old whores the house had to offer, he excused himself and went to the tavern nearby to wait for his friend. But the tavern itself boasted a couple of serving wenches that were willing to tumble a man for a little coin. One of the girls, Ros, was just a few years older than Jon and came to sit with him while he drank. She was pretty enough with reddish brown hair and big eyes and she made him comfortable with her chatter and her interest in all he had to say. Jon was usually quite shy of girls not having had many to talk to ever between school and the navy.

An hour later, Ros led a somewhat inebriated Jon up to her room and began to undress. Jon had never even seen a naked woman before as Captain Mormont did not allow women of any kind aboard other than Mrs. Smith, the gunner’s wife, and Mrs. Lane, the marine sergeant’s wife. Neither woman was likely to stir much lust in the hearts of adolescent boys though. They were well into their middle years and helped care for the younger boys and young gentlemen aboard rather like surrogate mothers. Ros was nothing like them. She had large teats and she encouraged Jon to touch them. He was delighted just to see them, let alone touch them. They were soft and full.

“Kiss them if you like,” Ros urged. Jon bent his head and placed a chaste kiss on her right breast.

Ros laughed and said, “Not like that, love. Open your mouth, suck at them.” Jon flushed but did as Ros instructed. She gave a moan as he kneaded and suckled at her breasts with reverence and the sound went straight to his cock. Ros looked down on him with a smile. “First time?” she asked gently.

“Yes,” he answered nervously.

“Take your breeches off, love.” Jon did as he was bid and Ros put her hand on his cock and began stroking it the way Jon would do to himself at night when he hoped his messmates were all asleep. There was no privacy to be had aboard for a midshipman of course. His cock was fully hard when Ros led him to the bed and he groaned when she kissed his neck. “Come on, love. On top or bottom?”

Jon knew what she was asking but he was suddenly apprehensive. He didn’t want to get her with child. A nameless bastard he would never meet and never even know of.

“I don’t want to get you pregnant,” he stammered.

“No need to worry about that. Babes are not made every time a woman gets fucked. Pull out before you come. I’ll help you if you’re not sure what to do.”

“I…I’m sorry. I don’t think I can do this,” he said with embarrassment.

But Ros looked at him kindly and said, “How about something that won’t make a babe then?” He nodded uncertainly and she started stroking his shaft again. “Touch me where you like, love.”

Jon moved his hands across her breasts some more, holding them, feeling their weight. He watched the nipples harden under his touch and he leaned over to suck at them some more. He then let his hands roam downwards until he had a hand at her waist and the other on her thigh. Ros spread her legs.

“Slip a finger inside,” she whispered in his ear. She was moaning and his leaking cock was so hard under her hand now that it was agonizing. His fingers grazed her folds and then he slid a finger inside her cunny.

“It’s wet,” he breathed.

“That’s how you know you’re doing well, love. When a woman’s wet for you, you’re doing well.”

“But…you don’t…you’re a…”

“I’m a tavern wench and I lay with men when it suits me. I’ve got eyes to see and I see a very pretty lad before me now,” she cooed as she kept kissing his neck. Jon groaned as her hand kept moving and knew he wouldn’t last much longer. He was amazed he’d lasted this long. “Close, love?”

“Unnn…yes,” he said, grimacing as his voice shot up an octave unexpectedly.

“Lay back,” Ros said as she laughed. Jon laid on the bed and Ros got on her hands and knees above his waist. She lowered her mouth onto his straining cock and Jon’s hip bucked into her mouth of their own accord. “Easy, love,” Ros said.

“Sorry…oh, God…” he groaned as all other thoughts fled. Her mouth was hot and wet and, as she took his full length in and sucked her way back up, Jon was whimpering. It took less than a minute for him to come. “Unnnn…Unnngghh,” he grunted as his seed filled Ros’s mouth.

She kept working up and down as the last pulsed out and then she spit into the chamber pot by the bed. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and smiled at him.

“How was that, sweet boy?”

“Good…uh, that was good.”

But somehow as he laid there catching his breath and waiting for his heart to stop pounding, he couldn’t help but feel dirty afterwards. And he was still a virgin. He didn’t know at the moment which fact bothered him more.

Ros had handed him his breeches a couple of a minutes later and he pulled them on in silence. He handed her coin for payment and she told him to come see her again whenever he was back in Plymouth.

 

Jon had thought of that encounter quite a bit over the past several months. Sometimes he felt shame in his weakness for doing those things with a whore and sometimes he cursed his honorable intentions for leaving him a virgin when his friends had all managed to have relations with a woman, even Sam. As he paced alone that night on deck off the coast of Spain, he wondered if there would ever be a woman for him to lay with that wasn’t a whore. A woman that loved him and wanted him for himself and not his coin and would be willing to overlook his status as a bastard… _and if there is, will I love and want her to?_

* * *

 

Three days later the frigate let go her anchor at Gibraltar Bay. Captain Mormont had passed the word for Mr. Snow immediately afterwards and Jon presented himself in the cabin as soon as he had straightened his jacket and made sure he was passably decent.

“Come in, Snow. Would you care for a glass of wine? Yes? Good, take a seat.” The captain poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Jon as he took his seat and waited. “Mr. Yarwyck will be leaving us. His condition has worsened and he plans to retire from the navy. Blockading is a wearing tasks on men and ships both and poor old Yarwyck has never recovered from his chest complaint he picked up over the winter.”

“Yes, sir,” Jon said. He didn’t know what to say about this not wholly unexpected development but he felt he needed to say something.

“I am going to name you Acting Lieutenant in his place.”

Jon choked on his wine and sputtered, “But Mr. Trant is senior, sir. And Mr. Altin and Mr. Stanley have more sea time than me.”

“I know that, boy. But Mr. Trant does not seem fit for command to me. And Mr. Altin and Mr. Stanley are fine seamen but they lack your abilities when it comes to navigation. Midshipmen are not post-captains anyway. Promotion is entirely at my discretion.” The last part was said with a touch of acerbity and Jon hoped he had not offended his captain.

“Of course, sir. And may I please say how grateful I am for your consideration and the opportunity?”

“Yes, yes…that’s all well and good. You deserve it though. No man advances under me that doesn’t deserve it.” Jon sipped his wine and wondered what his Uncle Brandon would want him to say to that. Mormont continued, “You have the requisite sea time and I will submit your name for examination when the next board is able to meet here in Gibraltar. In the meantime, you’d best study your books when you can find the time.”

“Aye-aye, sir.” Jon wondered if he was dismissed but didn’t dare rise to leave until he was certain.

“You may remove your midshipman patches. Mr. Thorne and Mr. Yoren have already been informed of my decision and you may move your dunnage to Mr. Yarwyck’s cabin once he has left the ship.”

Jon was pretty certain that was a dismissal. “Aye-aye, sir,” he said again as he rose. He was nearly to the door when the captain called out once more.

“Oh, Mr. Snow, I nearly forgot. I am to dine at the house of Sir Eddard Stark tomorrow afternoon. He is a very old friend of mine and I am the godfather to two of his children. He has invited me to bring along a couple of officers. I wish for you to be part of the party.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

 _A dinner party?_ Jon felt his stomach twist in a sudden knot as he saluted his captain and took his leave.

* * *

 

“A dinner party?” Sam inquired with a smile on his round, friendly face. “That’s wonderful, Jon. I’ll bet they’ll have good food there. Perhaps there will be ladies…young ladies there as well.”

“I doubt that, Sam.”

“Why shouldn’t there be girls?” Pyp asked.

“I don’t know…he’s hosting the captain and officers and there may be some army officers there as well. I don’t imagine ladies would be invited.”

“They would if they’re part of his household,” Sam said.

“He said he was godfather to two of Sir Eddard’s children. God, help me if they’re girls. Let us hope not,” Jon breathed.

“Why are you so terrified of women, Jon? Girls always seem to fancy you,” Pyp said with a hint of jealousy.

“I’m not terrified of women! I just…I never know what to say to them. I’m awkward enough at a dinner party as it is. My uncle always said so.”

“I don’t think you’re awkward, Jon. I think your uncle is just a bit hard on you,” Sam said. “How did Trant take the other news?”

“Haven’t told him.”

“I can’t wait to see the look on his face,” Pyp chortled as he left them to head up for his watch.

“I’ll miss you here,” Sam said a bit sadly.

“I’m still your friend even if I’m in the gunroom now.”

“Yes, but it won’t be the same. You’ll be our superior officer.”

“I’m only an acting lieutenant. If I fail my examination, I’ll be back here again.”

“You won’t fail, Jon.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Backstory on Sansa and they meet at the dinner hosted by her father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave Sansa a twin brother in the tale for the sake of some later drama.

Miss Sansa Stark looked out the window at the broad lane below. She could see the hills in the distance through the leaves on the tree by the window and just the merest speck of the sea on the horizon. She had lived in Gibraltar the past five years at Summer Hall, the house her father had leased from Mr. Lannister when they came here. It had amused her older brother, Robb, to no end at that time that they were living in a house called Summer Hall when the family’s estate in England was called Winterfell. She had been eleven then. She had been so excited to see new places, meet new sorts of people and feel the warmth of the Mediterranean sun that she didn’t really miss England at all, she thought. But the Mediterranean sun had not been kind to her pale complexion and she soon had freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. Her father had said they were enchanting but the instructors and girls at Miss Murray’s School for Young Ladies had tsked at her for failing to keep her bonnet on at all times.

Sansa had been the subject of much derision in the year she had attended school there. _‘Red hair is not en vogue,’_ she was told… _as if I can control the color of my hair_. Ladies were better off with blonde hair or a lovely brown or ebon shade. Harlots had red hair. _‘Ladies don’t ask so many questions,’_ she was told as well. They were to answer questions that were asked of them. And they certainly did not give short answers or offer their pert opinions. They did not roll their eyes in frustration or slump their shoulders when they were tired either. Sansa had been given many rules to follow at Miss Murray’s School and she seemed to fail at every one.

But one day, she broke the biggest rule. _‘Ladies do not fight…ever.’_ But how was Sansa expected to ignore their vicious words about her dear mother? She knew her mother’s marriage to Papa had been a scandal at the time. Lady Catelyn was the daughter of Hoster Tully, the Duke of Riverrun. She had met the handsome young major, Mr. Eddard Stark, at a dinner party hosted by some acquaintance of the duke’s. They had developed an immediate attachment and were soon writing to one another in secret. When a maid found one of his letters, she gave it to Catelyn’s mother. Her father had decreed that the attachment should be ended at once and threatened to send Catelyn away to family in Ireland if she disobeyed. But Mr. Stark was an ardent and enterprising young lover and he stole into her father’s estate in the dark of night and asked the lady to elope with him. She had agreed and the amorous, young pair had stolen away to Gretna Green. The scandal was all the talk of Riverrun and the surrounding counties for the next twelve month though Sansa’s romantic heart loved hearing her mother tell her the story when she was little.

The girls at Miss Murray’s had tittered over the scandal when they had heard of it from their mothers or older sisters who knew of the Starks. Then, they started saying Lady Catelyn was a harlot to run away with a man like that and, since she had a harlot’s red hair, Sansa was bound to be one as well. Sansa didn’t even know what a harlot was at the time but she knew they were being insulting to her mother. Lady Catelyn had died in child birth when Sansa was seven and it was difficult to speak of her at all, let alone listen to others besmirch her. Sansa was normally a very good girl.  It hurt that she could never seem to please anyone at school.  But that day, as the other girls had teased her and said cruel things about her mother, she had turned wild. She had hit, slapped and screamed at the offending girls. She had scratched their faces and pulled their hair. She uttered the handful of curses she had learnt from her older brother and his friend at them all until Miss Murray had struck her with a belt and sent for her father.

Sansa had cried that day telling Papa all of the awful things about Miss Murray’s school and the girls there. And Papa had withdrawn her from the school the next day. He started having her tutored with Robb and her twin brother, Gabriel. But he made the arrangement conditional. She was to help educate her sister and younger brothers and he expected her to be the lady of his house and a charming hostess to any guest they entertained. It was an easy thing to agree.

So by the age of 12, Miss Stark was acting as the lady of her father’s house. Obviously, she did not dine at dinner parties then but she helped with her younger siblings and kept peace between her father and her twin brother, who were forever at odds. Sir Eddard was happy in the arrangement. He did not wish to marry again and felt that Sansa fulfilled the role of her mother very well when it came to the younger children and the running of his house.

By 14, Sansa was very efficient at keeping his house and his accounts in order. She also read far more than any of her brothers and an early facility for languages had blossomed. Sansa spoke French and Spanish fluently but had picked up a good deal of Greek and Arabic as well. And, she knew far more Latin than any young lady her tutors had ever met.

Colonel Stark had been knighted soon after he was wounded in a little skirmish that had broken out during the time of the Spanish Disturbance. As Sir Eddard, he had retired from the army but he had several business interests that had led him and his family to Gibraltar. Despite being ‘in trade,’ the family was well respected. He was also secretly and deeply involved in the army’s intelligence network in the Mediterranean which was in fact how he came by his injury. Sansa was aware of this but only because she had run across some secret papers tucked in a ledger by accident. And, she knew to keep her mouth closed.

* * *

 

Sansa turned from the window and glanced over at the two boys working at the table in the small room that had been given over as a school room in the house. Bran was 11 and Rickon was 9 and neither were very diligent students. Bran had dark brown hair and was given to daydreams and Rickon had a mess of auburn curls and was restless, always looking for an excuse to run off from lessons. Her sister Arya wasn’t much better at 14 and Sansa despaired of ever making much of a lady of her. Arya had grey eyes like their father and dark brown hair. Papa said it was too soon to worry about what sort of lady Arya would be but Sansa suspected he secretly enjoyed Arya’s tomboyish ways. Their ancient nursemaid, Old Nan, came into the room.

“Your father wishes to see you, miss.”

Sansa looked over at the two boys who were already grinning in anticipation of an early release from today’s studies.

“Very well, Nan. Boys, you must finish your Latin assignment but then you may go.”

Sansa headed down the hall and passed her brother, Gabriel, who had his nose in a newspaper. Her twin had fiery red hair and blue eyes like her own. He wore his hair cropped short though and he had even more freckles than Sansa.

“Anything of interest, brother?”

“Just those bloody frogs rolling over our army yet again, sister,” he replied as he absently kissed her cheek. “Did Father call for you?”

“Yes…have you been quarreling with Papa again?”

“No…well, yes. He still won’t allow me to join.”

“Good.”

“Good? I’m 16, Sansa. It’s time I joined Robb in the regiment.”

“I know you’re 16, Gabriel. We happen to share a birthday, you know. You wouldn’t necessarily serve with Robb.”

“I know that…you know what I mean.”

“Gabriel…”

“Oh, I know what you’re going to say. Save your breath. Father is waiting.”

 

Sansa headed to her father’s study and knocked. He bid her to enter and rose to kiss her cheek. Sir Eddard was still a very virile man at 45 even with his slight limp. His hair was neatly tied back and his gray eyes were soft today despite his quarrel with Gabriel.

“Come in, my dear. We are to host a dinner party tomorrow and I am in desperate need of you as always. Your godfather, Sir Jeor, is coming along with two of his officers. Your brother is coming as well, along with a Colonel Brown and his wife, who Robb is serving under at present. Admiral Defreys and his wife will round out the party.”

“So, I will be dining, too, Papa? And Gabriel?”

“Yes, my dear.”

“A rather large party.”

“I know. I’m sorry to drop this on you so suddenly but you never let me down.”

“Yes, Papa. I’ll do my best.”

“If any of the men start to get too drunk, I’ll signal you to retire with the ladies to the drawing room at once.”

“Yes, Papa.”

* * *

 

The next day, Jon followed his captain down the broad street as they approached Summer Hall. Mr. Thorne had been left in command and Mr. Yoren was the other officer invited to dine. The house was very grand and Jon felt the nervous sensation in his stomach grow at the thoughts of spending the next few hours in the company of society people. Sir Eddard was bound to be society type people.

They arrived on the hour for Mormont, like most naval officers, was obsessed with punctuality. They had certainly rubbed off on Jon in this respect and he would sooner appear on deck half naked than be late for his watch. As they had reached the house, a young boy with curly auburn hair flung the door open before his captain had a chance to knock. He gave them a saucy grin and his eyes were alight with mischief. He gave Jon a cursory glance before he bolted right past him and out into the street.

“Rickon, you wicked boy! Come back here at once! You will shame us all!” a female voice was calling from inside.

Mormont and Yoren shared a knowing smile. Jon wondered what they found so amusing until all coherent thought evaporated…for standing there in the doorway now was a girl. Pretty was far too common a word for her. She was beautiful, truly a vision…breath-taking really. Jon noticed her red hair first and, although his mind briefly flitted to his encounter with Ros, the comparison would not hold at all. This girl’s hair was truly red like fire. It was shiny and neatly coiffed unlike Ros’s reddish brown, tangled locks. The shade was somewhere between auburn and copper and was lovely with her pale white skin which was fetchingly adorned with a few freckles. She had lovely, crystal blue eyes. Jon couldn’t even recall the color of Ros’s eyes. And, whereas Ros was a whore and a couple of years older than he, this girl was clearly a lady and appeared to be a year or two younger.

“Sir Jeor!” the girl exclaimed with delight as he took her hand.

“Heavens, child, you have grown. You look just like your mother, you know,” Mormont said fondly as he patted the girl’s cheek. “Gentlemen, allow me to present Miss Sansa Stark, Sir Eddard’s elder daughter and my goddaughter. Sansa, dear, allow me to present two of my officers. This is Lieutenant Francis Yoren and Acting Lieutenant Jon Snow.”

Miss Stark sank into a graceful curtsy as Mr. Yoren gave a jerky bow and Jon was pleased that he managed a decent one. Miss Stark’s eyes fell on Jon for a moment or two longer than they had on Yoren but she straightened and said, “Welcome, Mr. Yoren and Mr. Snow. We are pleased to have you join us for dinner. Come in.”

Jon followed Miss Stark and his superiors into the house trying not to stare too obviously at her. She led them to the sitting room where a young army officer and a man in his middle years stood.

“Rickon?” the younger man asked with a grin before he noticed her companions.

“Not now, Robb,” Miss Stark said as they followed her into the room.

Captain Mormont and Sir Eddard greeted each other fondly and the proper introductions were made. The young army officer was her brother, Robb Stark, Sir Eddard’s heir, and a captain in the army. He had blue eyes like Miss Stark and reddish brown hair. Another young man joined them and was introduced as Sir Eddard’s second son, Gabriel, and the twin brother of Sansa and Sir Jeor’s godson. The door was heard once more as the admiral and his wife arrived, followed not long after by the colonel and his wife.

As Miss Stark was entertaining the ladies across the room, Jon stood uncertainly to himself. Yoren and the captain were deep in discussion with Sir Eddard and the admiral. The colonel was talking to Captain Stark while the other brother had disappeared. He had caught himself staring at Miss Stark far too often and more than once she had glanced his way and caught him looking at her. She would smile sweetly at him then until he would jerk his head way… _like the awkward ass you are, Jon_.

He distracted himself from feeling so out of place by looking at the paintings the room held. He came across a large portrait of a lovely woman that looked very much like Miss Stark, though older, and decided it must be her mother.

“Do you like my mother’s portrait?” a soft voice said at his side.

Jon looked over with surprise to find that Miss Stark was standing by his side and smiling at the portrait on the wall. Her hair seemed to glow in the candlelight and her white dress made her look quite angelic. But, her pink, bow-shaped lips had him momentarily thinking less innocent thoughts and he had to remind himself she had actually asked a question.

“Yes…it’s lovely. She’s lovely…I mean, she was very lovely.” _God, Jon, you are hopeless_.

Miss Stark did not make any comment about his awkwardness though. She smiled at him and said, “Yes, she was. She died when I was seven.”

“Yes, Captain Mormont mentioned your father was a widower. I’m sorry.”

“And what of your mother, Lieutenant Snow? Does she worry over her son at sea?”

“No, she died…in childbed.”

Now, it was Miss Stark that looked awkwardly about and said miserably, “I am so sorry.”

Jon felt certain he had upset her which was the last thing he wanted. “It’s alright, Miss Stark. I never knew her.” If he thought those words would comfort her though, he was mistaken for she only looked more stricken.

“Mama died in childbed with Rickon. He never knew her and my brother, Brandon, was only two. I am…I am not much of a substitute, I fear.”

Before Jon could think of a suitable reply to this, the butler announced dinner. Jon wanted very much to at least escort her in to the table if only for the opportunity to speak with her longer but he knew very well that he would be the least likely to have that honor. Sir Jeor was granted that privilege but, as he led Miss Stark away, she glanced back at Jon and gave him a friendly smile. _Well, that’s something at least_ , he thought as he followed the rest to table.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner at Sir Eddard's home is not going so well for Sansa...except in one area. And, Jon's dealing with frustrations of his own plus his fascination with Miss Stark.

Sansa was normally a gracious hostess. She had been commended for it several times over the past year and she took a good bit of pleasure in her father’s proud look when someone would tell him what a fine young lady and lovely hostess his daughter was. But tonight, she seemed destined to cause her poor father grief. She had already started off the evening with a misstep when she had embarrassed poor Lieutenant Snow with her morbidity over Mama and her curious and, as it turned out, quite inappropriate question about his own mother. The blunders had continued from there.

She had allowed Rickon to escape right before their guests began arriving. They had all just sat down at table when Gabriel had returned with the boy and they had made a scene in the hallway. Sansa quickly excused herself from the table but was in no doubt that their guests could hear Rickon’s wailing, Gabriel’s shouts and her pleas that they both be quiet. Actually, in a fit of temper, she had called out rather loudly for them both to _‘Stop your gobs, you bloody animals!’_ which was not a ladylike expression at all. She could almost hear Miss Morris’s voice in her head telling her that young ladies never say ‘bloody.’ And while the ‘gob stopping’ comment wasn’t anything unduly coarse, the naval expression was probably an unsuitable thing for a lady to shout at her brothers with guests in the house. And, she could hear Sir Jeor’s and Robb’s unmistakable booming laughter on the other side of the door immediately after she had said it.

And apparently, the more willful part of her personality was not done for the evening as she had very nearly quarreled with a guest at table. Colonel Brown was a slave-holder in the West Indies which Sansa knew perfectly well. Robb had warned her and Papa ahead of time and Sansa had promised to keep her mouth closed and her opinions to herself for the course of a dinner at least in that matter. He was a guest after all. But, when the colonel had started speaking of his slaves as though they were children and waxing on about how happy and content their lives no doubt were by working on his plantations for nothing, Sansa had quoted from memory some rather heated abolitionist works of Mr. Wilberforce’s friends regarding the matter. The colonel had then made some snide remarks to Papa about his daughter’s ‘excessive’ education and suggested that perhaps once she were married off she would learn to let her husband express the opinions. Sansa sat at her end of the table with her cheeks burning as Gabriel tossed back his wine in an attempt to keep his own mouth occupied and Robb’s face turned red with anger as he shot his superior officer a murderous glare. Mrs. Brown was incensed on behalf of her husband and Mrs. Defreys gave Sansa rather pitying smile while Mr. Yoren and Mr. Snow just looked uncomfortable. Her father, the admiral and Sir Jeor soon kicked up a credible din of conversation at their end of the table though to direct attention away from the unpleasant little incident.

Sansa soon recovered enough from her social faux pas to engage Mr. Yoren, who sat at her left, and Mr. Snow, who sat next to him, in conversation. She decided she enjoyed the company of naval officers overall better than army officers with the exception of her brother. Naval officers always seemed more deferential and attentive to ladies at table she thought, perhaps because they spent so little time with them otherwise. Mr. Yoren was a grizzled old sea dog with little in the way of social graces but Sansa liked him all the same. His tales of ships and the sea were interesting and his bluff way of speaking was entertaining. Mr. Snow however was something else entirely. He was quite handsome to look upon with his curly, dark hair swept back in a queue and tied with a black ribbon. His serious brown eyes were commanding when he spoke of something passionately and Sansa found it a nice contrast to his full lips that puckered rather sweetly when he grew frustrated trying to express himself. And, on the rare occasions when a smile lit up his face, Sansa’s breath would catch in her throat in the most alarming manner.

_Stop staring at him, Sansa. Goodness…Robb or Gabriel will notice and you will never hear the end of it_.

But Mr. Snow wasn’t just attractive. He was interesting and rather witty as well once she had melted away his shyness a bit with her own chatter. They were talking away very companionably when she noticed father’s signal. Colonel Brown and, most unfortunately, Gabriel were getting rather drunk. The colonel was getting quite loud, his comments were becoming crass and his words were inappropriate for mixed company. Sansa rose from the table to excuse herself and the other ladies and the gentlemen all stood and bowed to them. Gabriel had only staggered slightly as he opened the door for them to leave the dining room.

It was in the drawing room that her final failing as a hostess had then come about. Mrs. Brown was a sharp-tongued woman and she was soon questioning Sansa rather severely about her education and the education of her younger siblings. Mrs. Defreys was a quiet little mouse who sat and sipped her tea silently while Sansa found herself being openly cross examined and judged in her own home by a woman she was quickly growing to despise.

“And so the education of your younger sister and two young brothers is in your hands? A girl of sixteen charged with the education of two young boys? Your sister’s education is one thing but the boys, too? Highly irregular.” Before Sansa could breathe a word in response, Mrs. Brown continued, “Did your father never send you to school, Miss Stark? A proper school for young ladies?”

“Yes, Mrs. Brown, I was sent to school for a time but I’m afraid I was rather hopeless there and Papa has chosen to have me educated at home.”

“But you said you have no governess.”

“No, Mrs. Brown, I’ve not had a governess.”

“Well, that’s all well and good for young ladies with a mother at home but for you…well, that is a pity. Who has educated you then?”

“I was educated with my brothers.”

“With your brothers? Surely, I’m not understanding you. Do you mean to tell me Sir Eddard has had your brothers’ tutors educate you? Male tutors?”

“Yes.”

Mrs. Brown had harrumphed at that and said, “That explains some things, I suppose…what a pity.”

Sansa knew she should have kept quiet then. She was always harping on Arya to control her temper and check her words and here was Sansa getting ready to do exactly the opposite of what she was constantly preaching to her sister. She was vexed though. She would have much rather stayed at table enjoying Mr. Snow’s company or even Mr. Yoren’s…any of the men save Colonel Brown really.

“Yes, such a great pity. Such a pity for a young woman to have her head filled with literature and history, mathematics and philosophy. My mind would doubtless be so much more at ease with nothing but flower arrangements and dancing steps to occupy it, Mrs. Brown.”

Mrs. Defreys mouth hung open for a moment while Mrs. Brown slowly came to understand what Sansa had said. Sansa silently chastised herself and sipped her tea hoping the men would join them soon. But Mrs. Brown was not quite done.

“I wish Sir Eddard luck in ever finding a gentleman willing to marry her,” she said under her breath to Mrs. Defreys.

Sansa rose to her feet and said, “Oh, yes. Another great pity since obviously the only acceptable attainment for a young lady such as myself is the acquisition of a husband. And yet, I find that I do not envy most married ladies I know, _Mrs_. Brown.” And with that she spun on her heel and swept out the door knowing she had failed thoroughly as a gracious hostess this evening.

Sansa could hear the men’s loud voices from the hall as she fled to the veranda. The hot tears were already welling up in her eyes. Her pride in her impertinent remarks to Mrs. Brown was instantly lost as she reflected on the conversation and felt shame at her decidedly unladylike behavior.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” she whispered to the stars. “I try so hard to be a lady like you but my temper sometimes gets in the way.”

“Miss Stark?”

Sansa gasped for there on the veranda stood Mr. Snow. She had not spotted him at first as it was dark and he stood at the far side of the railing. She felt a tear roll down her cheek as she forced a smile to her lips. He was not fooled however and he walked over to her and silently handed her a handkerchief. Sansa wiped her eyes and delicately blew her nose.

“Keep it,” he said as she started to hand it back.

“Thank you.”

“Were they awful?” he asked with an arched brow.

Sansa couldn’t help but laugh. He was refreshingly direct compared to many young men she had met. He reminded her of her brothers and yet he was different in a way.

“Only Mrs. Brown,” she replied when her laughter had died down and she had wiped the last of her tears away.

“Ah. She reminds me of our premier, Mr. Thorne. A rather difficult man to please if ever there was one,” he said with a smile.

“I was rude to her husband at dinner. I suppose I should’ve expected her claws to come out…not that she was so very terrible. A better hostess would not have risen to the bait.”

“That’s not possible…I mean, I could not imagine a better hostess than you, Miss Stark.”

“That is kind of you to say, Mr. Snow. I’m sorry if this has been a rather dull and dreadful dinner for you.”

“Not at all! I enjoyed dinner. I very much enjoyed you…um, talking to you, I mean.” He closed his eyes for a moment in frustration and Sansa hid her smile as he continued, “Dinner was most enjoyable, Miss Stark. It’s just that after dinner…”

“What?  After dinner what?”

“Well, once you ladies left, the colonel became rather…unpleasant about some things and I thought I would take the air for a bit.”

“Was he awful?” she asked, parroting his earlier words.

“Yes, quite awful, I’m afraid,” Mr. Snow replied with a smile.

“Well, I am sorry for that but you don’t seem too upset now.”

“No,” he said then with a sweet look that made Sansa feel a bit dizzy, “at the moment, I am quite content.”

They stood there for several minutes making small talk when the door opened and Robb came out on the veranda. He noticed Sansa and Mr. Snow standing alone together and narrowed his eyes and gave her an inquisitive look before he spoke.

“Father is looking for you, Sansa. The colonel and Mrs. Brown have had to leave rather suddenly as the colonel is unwell but Sir Jeor has expressed a wish to hear you play.”

“Very well, Robb, I will come and play. Mr. Snow? Will you be coming as well?”

“Yes, Miss Stark. I would be delighted to come…hear you play, I mean.”

 

* * *

 

 

She played and sang beautifully… _like an angel_. And he was indeed delighted to hear her but even more delighted in the fact that now he could look upon her as much as he liked without anyone finding fault in that. She was the center of the attention after all. Everyone’s eyes were on her. Her father sat by the fire with Captain Mormont watching her fondly, while her brothers stood by the piano forte. The younger Mr. Stark had sang a duet with her at one point but Captain Stark had blanched when she had asked him to sing with her as well.

“I’ll leave the singing to you and Gabriel, Sansa. You two are the songbirds.”

Yoren was nodding off in the comfortable chair he had found in the corner and Jon sat next to him with a perfect view of Sansa. Her hair was elegantly arranged but there was one wayward curl that wanted to fall down over her brow and in her eyes. Jon wanted very much to sweep it out of the way for her and tuck it behind her ear. When she became exasperated by it at one point while she played, she blew a strong gust of air from her puckered lips up at it and the frustrated expression on her face when it fell right back to where it was made Jon smile widely to himself and look down lest anyone else see his besotted expression.

Captain Stark had walked away from the instrument now that Sansa had stopped singing and was merely playing quietly. He said a word or two to Admiral Defreys and his wife before he came over to Jon with a friendly smile.

“You like my sister’s playing, Mr. Snow?”

“Yes…very much. I very much like your sister…um, your sister’s playing. She plays very well.” _Dear God, please stop asking me about your sister before I say something even_ _worse_.

The captain smiled knowingly at him then and said, “I am glad we could have you here with us this evening, Mr. Snow. May I ask how long you have been in the navy?”

“Thank you, it has been my pleasure to meet her…I mean, all of you.” _Bloody hell, Jon!_ “I’ve served three years aboard now.”

“Oh, that’s very good. With Mormont the whole time?” he asked and continued once Jon nodded. “I joined the army at 17 so I’ve been serving for three years myself.”

They talked together amiably while Jon considered the captain. Army officers could purchase their commissions unlike in the navy… _where you actually have to earn it to some_ _extent._ Jon wondered if Robb Stark was a good officer or if his father had purchased his lieutenant’s commission for him and he had advanced on to captain purely through his connections. Not that that sort of thing didn’t happen in the navy. Even very deserving officers could be overlooked if they didn’t have the right connections. They might languish for years as ‘young gentlemen’ until they finally gave up on the navy as a career or, if they received their commission, they might find themselves with no ship and only half-pay for their needs if they lacked connections and couldn’t ‘pass for a gentleman.’ Jon hoped that wouldn’t be the case for himself. He did have a connection at least in his Uncle Benjen.

 

As the party wound down, Jon was sad to see that Sansa had left the room. He was fervently hoping for the opportunity to say good-bye at least. But as they moved towards the front door, she reappeared to warmly shake each guests by the hand with a smile. When Jon’s turn came, she blushed and slipped him a handkerchief.

“To replace the one you so kindly gave away earlier,” she whispered.

Jon looked down in astonishment at the clean, white handkerchief made of fine linen in which a small blue rose was embroidered in one corner.

“This is far too fine a thing for me, Miss Stark,” he said quietly.

“I disagree, Mr. Snow, and you wouldn’t wish to quarrel with me about it, would you?” she asked with an arched brow.

“No…I would not wish to start a quarrel with you, Miss Stark. I’m quite certain I would lose,” he replied as Captain Mormont called to him to hurry along.

He gave her a quick smile as he pulled his hat on and followed his captain out the door.

 

That night on deck he couldn’t stop smiling as he would occasionally reach into his pocket to touch the handkerchief Miss Stark had given him. He would run his fingers over the delicate embroidery imagining her slender, white hands at work. Sam came over to him when the deck was quiet for a moment.

“How was dinner then? Not too terrible? Any ladies there to frighten you to death?”

“No, it was very good. Dinner was excellent. Well…I did nearly call an insufferable ass of a colonel out but I didn’t.”

“Jon?! You nearly called out a higher-ranking officer of the army? You nearly dueled with a man and you say dinner was very good?!” Sam squeaked out at him, mopping his brow with concern on his friend’s behalf.

“It’s alright, Sam. I didn’t really call him out or anything. Mormont would’ve had my head for it and I wasn’t about to disrespect our host that way. But I wanted to,” he said with a scowl before his smile returned yet again. “No, dinner was good for other reasons,” he finished with a wry grin.

“Oh…would one of those reasons be a girl?” Sam asked with a grin of his own.

“Why, yes, Sam. Yes, it would be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't wait to get this chapter posted because it was so fun to write and I love getting some good JonSa interaction time in! Work will be getting crazy this week so I may not be able to update daily but I'll try my best. Thanks to everyone who is reading this fic!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa reflects on last night's dinner before learning more of Mr. Snow. Aboard the frigate, Jon deals with different situations as an officer and learns that Captain Mormont will be entertaining some guests.

The next morning at Summer Hall found Sansa at table with her father, Bran and Arya. Rickon had already been set to work in the school room due to his unruly behavior the previous day. Sansa caught her father stealing glances at her on occasion and was grateful that he could not read her mind as she was allowing it to wander rather frequently to Lieutenant Snow. Gabriel came in holding his head and casting apprehensive glances at their father just as the children were finishing up.

“Does your head hurt, son?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Good,” Papa said with a smile. “Perhaps the next time you attend a dinner, you’ll take care of how much wine you consume.”

“Yes, Father.”

Bran and Arya giggled to themselves at their brother’s chastisement but Sansa hushed them both with a glance. She feared that she might be the next to receive a rebuke for her own behavior last night. But no rebuke appeared so Sansa sipped her cocoa and allowed her mind to wander back to her conversations with Mr. Snow. The smile he gave her as he accepted her token and departed had left her quite flushed last night as she lay abed. She had slipped out of the drawing room in order to fetch one of the handkerchiefs she had just finished the day before and was glad she had done so now. She wondered if she would ever see him again sadly when she suddenly realized Gabriel was speaking to her and Papa was looking at her.

“I beg your pardon, Gabriel. I was not attending.”

“Clearly,” her twin replied with an arch little grin. “I was asking what you thought of Sir Jeor’s officers.”

“Oh! Well, Mr. Yoren was perfectly nice.”

“For an old sea dog, you mean.”

“Gabriel, that’s not kind to say. And, Mr. Snow was…well, he was very nice as well.”

“Very nice? Yes, he did seem nice until he was ready to toss Colonel Brown out of the house on his ass.”

“Gabriel,” Father said in a warning tone, “don’t embellish. Mr. Snow had every right to be offended. The colonel’s behavior was unpardonable and I will not welcome him in my house again.”

“The colonel was speaking the truth though when he said Mr. Snow was a bastard, wasn’t he, sir?”

“Yes, it was the truth but what of it? To speak to a fellow guest so…and Mr. Snow would’ve been well within his rights to call the man out for speaking of his mother and father in that foul way. I appreciate Mr. Snow’s prudent and rational behaviour under the circumstances.”

“Would you call it prudence, sir? Or was it more cowardice?”

“I will call it prudence, boy, and you would do well to follow Mr. Snow’s example in such matters. Duels are not something to be entered into lightly no matter the provocation. Are you so anxious for blood to be spilled in our home?”

Gabriel bowed his head and mumbled out an excuse before he fled the table. Sansa’s mind was awhirl from what she had heard. She wanted to ask questions but with Arya and Bran there she found she only needed to sit and listen.

“Is he really a bastard, Papa?” Arya asked with her eyes wide.

“That’s not really a suitable thing to ask of anyone, Arya. And ‘natural child’ is a more appropriate term. But yes, he was born out of wedlock.”

“Who were his parents then, Father?” Bran asked next.

“Lady Lyanna Snow, the sister of Lord Brandon Snow, and some French Marquis. And that is quite enough gossip about a man neither of you have met. Don’t you both have some school work to attend to?”

Sansa took the hint and ushered her younger brother and sister out of the room to see to their studies and check on Rickon’s progress. She glanced back at Father before she left the room and he gave her a warm smile. Sansa was sorry to find that she could not return it at the moment.

 _If he is a bastard, Papa might not consent to a courtship even if…even if I were to ever see him again. And, assuming he’d ever be interested in courting me at all_.

 

Sansa sat in her small parlor that afternoon embroidering. It was a womanly art that she actually enjoyed just as she enjoyed singing and playing. She just didn’t want those things to be the sole measure of her worth. It had been a trying day in the school room once more. Bran and Arya wanted to discuss the ‘bastard’ that had come to dinner the night before and Rickon was curious about all they said. Sansa finally lost her temper and scolded them into silence on the matter. The boys were reduced to tears but Arya only glared at her. When there was a knock on her door, she supposed it to be one of the children coming to make amends. Instead, it was Papa.

“May I come in, Sansa?”

“Of course, Papa. It is your house.”

“But this is your particular room, my dear,” he responded as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Just as the study is mine.” He looked at the embroidery she had been working on. “That is very fine. How long have you been working on that?”

It was a cloth intended for the small table in the drawing room and Sansa had covered it with all manner of flowers. “A couple of weeks now,” she replied. She waited and watched her father. She knew he had not come to her parlor to discuss embroidery.

“Sansa, last night after dinner…”   _Oh, here it comes. I knew I would not escape this. At least, he will chastise me here and not in front of the children_.  “Robb said you were alone with Mr. Snow on the veranda when he sought you out.” _Not what I expected_ …

“Yes, I was for a few minutes.”

“Well, what were you doing out there with Mr. Snow…alone?”

“Oh!” Sansa said with a blush as she realized what her father was hinting at. “I had not meant to be alone with Mr. Snow, Papa. I had…I quarreled with Mrs. Brown. I’m sorry, Papa, but I did. I went out on the veranda to collect myself and Mr. Snow was already there. Apparently, he was doing the same.”

“Oh, I see. That is well enough, I suppose. I just…Sansa, I know how romantic you can be…”

Sansa kept her mouth closed. She could have pointed out that he was a bit of a romantic as well. He had stolen into her mother’s room in the dark of night and convinced her to elope with him after all. But, disagreeing with Papa was not a wise course of action, especially when he was right. She waited for him to say more but he seemed to be at a loss. He cleared his throat and broached another topic. Unfortunately, it was not a topic that would push Mr. Snow from her mind.

“Sir Jeor has invited us to dine aboard the frigate the day after next. He specifically asked me to bring you but I have my concerns.”

The hope that had been building with his first words was suddenly squashed. “Concerns, Papa?”

“You’ve never been aboard a man-o-war, my dear. You’ve only travelled in Indiamen that are used to female passengers. A frigate is no place for a young lady. The seamen are…well, they are well enough fellows in their own way but I would hate for them to be overly familiar or cause you concern.”

“Like the soldiers at the barracks, Papa?”

Her father cringed as she asked. It was too true that several of the soldiers had behaved rather coarsely the last time Sansa was in their presence. She had feared that Robb would soon start stringing them up single-handedly if Papa had not led her away.

“Well…perhaps I am not giving Sir Jeor and his officers enough credit with their men. I suppose a dinner would be alright. If you would like to attend…”

Sansa steadied her breath before she replied in what she thought was an appropriately coolheaded manner. “Yes, Papa. It would be delightful to see Sir Jeor again.”

“Very well. He has invited the family to view the ship as well but I have decided that Rickon is to remain here after yesterday’s escape and I think Gabriel will remain with him.”

“Oh, Papa. They will be so disappointed.”

“Well, you and your sister and Bran will be enough for me to bring along I believe.”

“Are you certain Bran is up to a dinner like this?”

“Certainly. There are boys younger than him serving aboard the ship. Surely, he can manage a dinner.”

Sansa rose and said she would speak with Arya and Bran at once and secretly decided to break the news gently to Rickon. Her heart was swelling with the thoughts of seeing Mr. Snow once more though she reminded herself that he might not even be dining with them. _The ship doesn’t run itself after all and he might be on duty_. But, she still sincerely wished that there would be some opportunity to speak with him. Sansa was smiling all the way to Rickon’s room until she remembered what she had learned about Mr. Snow that morning. Then, the smile left her face.

 

* * *

 

 

Mr. Midshipman Trant had not taken the news of Jon’s advancement well but he couldn’t very well say anything to Acting Lieutenant Snow about it. And he certainly couldn’t express his displeasure to Captain Sir Jeor Mormont. He was 23 now and had started berthing with the captain’s clerk. The likelihood of advancement was dwindling with every passing birthday and he had raged when he heard of the bastard’s promotion ahead of him. He had released his bile by being more vicious than usual with the other members of the cockpit when he was not on duty. Grenn was a strongly built young man though and Trant avoided him and, while Pyp was smaller than Trant, he was fast. Sam was large but neither fast nor terribly strong but, as the bastard’s best friend, Trant knew better than to trifle with him. So, the two youngest members of the midshipmen’s berth, Mr. Reed and Mr. Guymon, who at thirteen and twelve respectively were woefully at his mercy, received most of Mr. Trant’s abuse.

Mr. Guymon, a first voyager, was in the foretop on this make and mend day to learn his sea knots from Old Selmy. Barristan Selmy was past 60 and was acting as the boy’s ‘sea daddy,’ meaning the older man was charged with teaching the reefer some of the basics of seamanship such as knotting and splicing and other elements of his profession. Selmy was in Jon’s division and a man he respected very much despite their differences in station. Jon had climbed into the tops on this fine afternoon to visit with the older man when he noticed the boy sniffling as he practiced his knots. His left eye was black and his lip was swollen. Jon looked to Selmy who gave him a knowing nod before he climbed back down to leave the young lieutenant to make his inquires.

“Mr. Guymon, are you unwell?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, what happened to your face?”

“Nothing, sir…I fell, sir.”

“You fell? And blacked your eye and busted your lip in your fall? Mr. Guymon, you wouldn’t be lying to me, would you?”

The boy glanced up at Jon and sniffled again. “It’s nothing, sir.”

“It’s against the Articles to be fighting aboard, Olly. I’d hate to see you punished. You weren’t fighting, were you?”

“No, sir… _I_ wasn’t fighting.”

“But someone hit you. Come now, tell me who did this.” _As if I don’t already know_.

“I can’t,” the boy whined miserably. It was true. Nothing was abhorred more than an ‘informer’ aboard ship. Even Olly had been at sea long enough to learn that.

“Was it Mr. Trant?” The boy stayed silent and looked even more miserable. “You don’t have to tell your lieutenant, you know. You could tell your friend, Jon. I am still your friend, Olly. I hope that you will tell me the truth. I would tell you the truth if I had something to tell. Did Trant hit you?”

“Yes,” he whispered, “he did.”

“Alright. I won’t say anything but I’ll see if I can do anything to fix this. Go and get that eye looked at when you’re done here.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

 

Jon climbed back down from the tops and found Mr. Thorne standing on the forecastle inspecting some repairs with the bosun. Jon started to head aft when the lieutenant called to him.

“Mr. Snow, a moment if you please.”

“Yes, sir?”

“I know you are already assigned to the forenoon watch tomorrow but you will need you to take the afternoon watch as well. The captain is entertaining some guests and Mr. Yoren, the master, the doctor and myself have been invited to dine in the cabin with the Captain and his guests.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

“The guests will be arriving in the forenoon watch though as the Captain wishes to let them go round the ship. And it would be best to rig a bosun’s chair as there are two young ladies in the party and a boy.”

This caught Jon’s attention for he had _never_ known Captain Mormont to entertain ladies aboard.

“Oh? Young ladies, sir?” _Could it be her? Could she possibly be coming here?_

Thorne gave Jon a sharp glance and he knew he should’ve just kept his mouth closed.

“Yes, Mr. Snow,” he sneered. “Did you have anything to add? Perhaps you’d like to consult the captain about his plans?”

“No, sir. I’ll see to it, sir,” he answered quickly.

“Very well then. And, we will want the ship looking her very best for our guests of course.”

“Of course, sir.”

Jon saluted and turned to head back aft. He tried very hard to disguise his enthusiasm as he thought of seeing Miss Stark again but the smile would keep creeping to his face.

 

As he headed aft, he saw Trant standing along the side berating two seamen about something and came over to see what the fuss was about. It soon became apparent that Trant was merely bullying the men for the sake of his own amusement.

“Mr. Trant, lay aft here.”

“Sir,” he said sullenly as he walked over to him.

Jon sent the men on about their business before he faced Trant again. “Everything alright, Mr. Trant?”

“Fine…sir,” he answered with the same sullen look.

“I’m not sure I like your tone, Mr. Trant, but no doubt your dinner is just not settling with you well,” he said with a arched brow. 

“Yes, sir,” Trant answered more politely this time.

“I hope so. And, I hope all is well in the cockpit, Mr. Trant?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Everyone getting along well then?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jon carried on for a few more minutes in not so subtle terms about the merits of a happy ship and the proper way to lead men to achieve that goal. Trant started looking sullen again before grumbling out his ‘aye-aye, sir’ and Jon reflected that perhaps the man that had beaten him bloody when he was 15 simply because he was bigger and stronger than him then had not gained much respect for him over the intervening years. He had come off far worse in that quarrel than Trant and, when Mr. Thorne had questioned him about his black eye and bruises and not been satisfied by Jon’s evasive answers, he’d sent Jon to the masthead for four hours as punishment. _I’ll not do_ that _to Olly at least even_ _if I fail to keep Trant in check all the time_.

 

He found Sam later than night to discuss Trant and Olly. He learned that young Mr. Reed had a broken a finger yesterday in a ‘fall.’ Grenn had said the finger looked like it had been smashed by a hammer. He knew that Trant was a nasty, mean-spirited man but Jon could not believe even he would be so bold. Grenn and Pyp had started shadowing the boys or Trant when they could but their duties kept them busy much of the time. Every man aboard had duties and England was at war. It was criminal of Trant to weaken the ship by mistreating the other young gentlemen aboard. But, Jon wasn’t entirely sure how to approach the matter without making matters worse for Olly and Jojen. And he didn’t have the authority to dismiss Mr. Trant from the ship. Only the captain could do that. He puzzled over the issue and hoped a solution would present itself in time.

Jon then told Sam about what Thorne had told him and his hopes and fears that perhaps Miss Stark would be coming aboard tomorrow. He cursed his luck at being the junior lieutenant and, therefore, left out of the upcoming dinner.

“And to think how frightened you were at the thought of attending a dinner with ladies present two days ago,” Sam snickered.

Jon huffed and rolled his eyes at Sam before saying, “That’s hardly sporting of you to remind me of it Sam. And, I wasn’t ‘frightened,’ just uncomfortable.”

Sam was still laughing at his expense though before he said, “I’ve been invited to dine in the cabin tomorrow as well, to represent the midshipman’s berth. I hope it is Miss Stark. I look forward to meeting any girl that could turn your head, Jon.”

“It doesn’t matter, I suppose. I could never hope to court a lady like her but I’d still like…I don’t know…”

“Like what? To speak to her? Woo her with your pretty words? Hold her hand?” he asked as he batted his eyes at Jon.

“God, help me. Are you done yet?”

“No!” Sam said as he was reduced to quaking with laughter once more. “Oh, I’m sorry, Jon! It’s just amusing to think of you as a suitor is all.”

“Bugger off, Sam.”

“Ah, don’t be mad, Jon. I’m happy for you. It’s not like there’s any young ladies lining up to admire me. I’ve got to live vicariously through your conquests.”

“She’s hardly my conquest,” Jon said though he was now snickering, too.

“Mr. Tarly! The quarterdeck is not a salon for your witty remarks. If you’re not on duty, find somewhere else to be,” Mr. Thorne called out.

“Aye-aye, sir,” Sam said as he jumped up and scurried away. And, Jon returned to his duty.

 

Later, as Jon retired to his small cabin, little more than a cubicle with a door really but far more privacy than the cockpit could hope to provide, he plucked the handkerchief she had given him out of its hiding spot. He lay in his cot remembering her voice as she sang and her laughter as they spoke on the veranda the night before. He remembered the warmth of her hand as she shook his and her smile. He thought of the stray tendril of hair hanging down in front of her eyes and wondered how soft her hair might be to touch. Before long, he was reaching down to pull his nightshirt up so he could stroke himself as he clutched the handkerchief in his other hand. He pictured her red hair and blue eyes and pale white skin as his strokes increased and his cock grew harder. He thought of kissing her freckled nose and her pink lips and then burying his face in her white bosom and kissing her breasts as his release neared. When it came, he pulled the handkerchief over his mouth to stifle his grunt and then laid it down as he found an old handkerchief of his to wipe himself clean. He would never soil the precious gift she given him.

 

Jon was on deck the next forenoon making sure all was shipshape for their guests as a boat was spotted making its way to the _Queenscrown_. He pulled his telescope out and confirmed that Sir Eddard was indeed being rowed to them along with Miss Stark and what must be two of Sir Eddard’s younger children. He told Mr. Reed who was on duty with him to inform the captain that his guests would be arriving soon and then went back to studying Miss Stark through his telescope. She was wearing a wide brimmed hat of cream and lavender and her dress was the same colours. It was not cut quite as low as the dress she had worn the other night but the navy’s unfashionably early dinner hour would account for the modesty of her dress. It didn’t matter to Jon. He could still see enough creamy white skin to make his mouth go dry and his cock gave a twitch.

“Ready the side,” he called. “Is the bosun’s chair ready?”

“Aye-aye, sir,” the bosun, Mr. Clegane answered. And within a minute the bosun said, “All laid along and ready, sir.”

“Very good, Mr. Clegane.”

Sir Eddard climbed the side easily enough as the chair was lowered for Miss Stark and her younger sister. But the younger girl threw the boats’ crew and the seamen aboard into a tizzy as she jumped from the boat right after her father and clung to the side like a monkey, climbing up after him as though it was the most natural thing in the world to her. The ship had rolled though just as she had made her leap and she came aboard with soaked boots. The boy scrambled up after her.

“You were supposed to take the chair like Sansa, Arya.”

“Why? I know how to climb.”

“It’s not ladylike to climb in skirts.”

“Well, I couldn’t wear breeches to a dinner, Bran. I’d like to see you try and climb that slippery ladder in skirts. I’d wager you wouldn’t fare near as well as I did.”

Sir Eddard cleared his throat and the children fell silent. Jon removed his hat and stepped over to greet them as Sir Jeor emerged from the cabin.

“Welcome aboard, Sir Eddard,” Jon said. The older man smiled and shook his hand.

“Thank you. It is good to see you again so soon, Mr. Snow. These are two of my younger children, Miss Arya, who I regret to say is leaving a rather large puddle on deck from her shoes, and Brandon, my second youngest son.”

“Ah, Sir Eddard, children! I’m so glad you could come,” Sir Jeor said as he arrived on deck to greet them.

As the captain was talking to them, Jon looked over the rail and straight into Sansa’s eyes as she was being pulled up in the bosun’s chair by two seamen. He smiled at her and she returned his smile with a dazzling one of her one. As the chair swung inboard and lowered Miss Stark to the deck, Jon held out a hand to help her up. Her own small hand was just as warm as he remembered and she curtsied to him once she was standing as he bowed.

“Welcome aboard, Miss Stark.”

“Thank you, Mr. Snow,” she answered with a sweet blush on her cheeks.

She reached up to adjust her hat and Jon was overcome once more with the desire to touch her hair. She had worn it down under her hat and it was curly at the ends. It hung down well below her breasts and Jon caught himself staring in that direction before he looked up to her eyes once more. He wondered again what all that hair might feel like to touch… _or bury my face in_.

“There you are, dear girl,” his captain said as Jon realized he had been standing and staring rather vacantly at Miss Stark for too long. “At least we managed to get you aboard dry-shod,” he continued with a chuckle.

Sansa looked over at her sister’s feet and bit her lip with a scowl on her face. Jon very much wanted to lick that lip that her teeth grazed and kiss her scowl away.

 _Stop this_ madness, _Jon. She’ll never be yours to kiss or anything. It’s best that you won’t get to dine with her or spend the afternoon in her company. It would only make it worse._

But Captain Mormont had his own notions. “Miss Stark, Miss Arya, Brandon, I wanted to catch up with your father over some Madeira. So, if your father does not object, I thought perhaps Mr. Snow might be willing to give you a tour of the ship. Mr. Thorne, you have command. Does that suit you, Ned?”

Sir Eddard gave Jon a rather long look but then said, “That would be fine, Jeor.”

 _God, give me strength_ , Jon thought as he turned to Sansa once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bows to Richard Woodman's 'Nathaniel Drinkwater' series for the interchange between Jon & Olly in this part. Bows always to Patrick O'Brian as I'm sure I'm borrowing from him without even realizing it at times, I've read those books so much! I own nothing.
> 
> And thanks to everyone for reading my fic!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon spends time with Miss Stark and her siblings while two old friends catch up. Miss Stark asks a favor of Mr. Snow and later dines at the captain's table.

“You are too kind to indulge my brother and sister in this way, Mr. Snow,” she said as they stood by the taffrail together after he had shown them ‘round the ship. “I’m quite certain that for days I will be asked countless questions during lessons about ships and the sea that I cannot possibly hope to answer. Poor Rickon will be so upset that he missed all of this.”

_You are too cruel to stand so close to me and say such sweet words. I’m quite certain that for days I will be quite useless with dreaming of you while regretting that I cannot possibly hope to win your father’s consent for your hand…which I’d very much like to hold at the moment._

“It would be…was…my great pleasure to indulge you, Miss Stark and the, um, children.” _Christ_ … “Um…I believe they will have worked up quite the appetite by the time dinner is served,” he said, gesturing towards the boy and the girl high above deck now.

The children had swarmed up the mizenmast to the fighting top with Mr. Reed as their guide as Jon had stayed on deck with Sansa. Bran was quite the climber and Arya had managed very well despite her skirts even if she had been forced to go through the lubber’s hole while Bran had followed Mr. Reed up the seaman’s way like an ape. _He would_ _make a natural seamen if climbing skills alone counted_ , Jon thought. They were raising quite a hullabaloo at present and Jon cast a quick glance over at Mr. Thorne near the wheel hoping he would not check their high spirits… _or me for allowing it_.

He looked back over to Sansa and smiled to himself. Her hair was whipping about in the breeze and she kept grasping at her hat to keep it from being carried away. Tendrils of her red locks would whip him about the face at times and he had to keep his hands firmly clasped behind his back to keep from reaching up and touching it… _tucking it behind_ _her ear…gathering it in my hands_. Her face was flushed a lovely pink from the sun and wind and her eyes were bright as she smiled back at him. Jon was quite certain he was wearing a completely infatuated look at present. He was not alone in that though he reflected. He had noticed the other officers on the quarterdeck and the hands at the wheel darting discreet glances at Sansa when they could. And when Old Selmy came aft on orders from the bosun with a message to Jon, the old man smiled fondly at Sansa and gave Jon a knowing look before knuckling his forehead and shuffling off forward again.

“Your brother and sister are delightful, Miss Stark. And, I…I have enjoyed spending time with you again.”

“Thank you, Mr. Snow. It has been lovely to see you again as well,” she responded warmly.

Jon cleared his throat before continuing, “If you thought the children would enjoy learning more of ships and such, perhaps I could loan you a book or two on seamanship that might help you answer some of their questions anyway.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t do that, Mr. Snow. What if you were to sail away on some duty and I was not able to see you again?” she said wistfully… _she looks a bit wistful, I think…stop_ _getting your hopes up, Jon_. “Perhaps you could suggest a book I could purchase?”

_Well, she’s not wrong there…although it would be a reasonable excuse to go see her again if I loaned her some books and then had to come and fetch them. Idiot…It’s not as though you can come and go as you please here and you need your books to study for your examination._

Arya soon broke in on his thoughts though, shouting down at him, “Jon! Jon! Can’t you come up here with us? Sansa can stand there on the quarterdeck well enough on her own. Come up here and tell us what these strange craft are by the wharf. Jojen doesn’t know.”

Sansa covered her mouth and laughed softly before saying, “I think my sister is quite taken with you, Mr. Snow. I’ve never known her to take to someone so quickly. I hope you’ll forgive her hoydenish ways.”

“That’s alright, Miss Stark. I’m flattered to count such a formidable young lady as an admirer. Please excuse me for a moment,” he said with a grin before he grasped the shrouds and climbed up to join the youngsters in the top.

Once he reached the top, they were rather cramped but he and Mr. Reed were used to that at least. “Now, where are these strange craft, Miss Arya?” he said as he handed her his telescope so that she might take a closer look at them.

“There! Those by the wharf with the purple cloth. Are they galleys?”

“Sails, Arya. Purple sails,” Bran corrected smugly. “Are they some sort of pirates, sir?”

“No, those are what is called a dhow, a small trading vessel the Arabs use. You see them in this part of the Mediterranean from time to time but if you were to sail further east or along the coast of Africa you would see them everywhere. Mr. Reed, have you never seen a dhow before?” Jon finished as he lifted a brow at the boy.

“No, sir,” the midshipman responded.

“Well, I suppose that makes sense since this is your first time to the Med. Well, take a good look Mr. Reed. We may see more of them soon.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you been to Africa, Jon?” Arya asked. She had immediately taken to calling him by his Christian name which pleased him greatly for some reason.

“No, not yet anyway.”

“I’d like to go to Africa. I would go and see the Nile. I’d like to be a sailor, too.”

“You can’t be a sailor, Arya. You’re a girl,” Bran said.

“Sansa says I can do all sorts of things and it doesn’t matter if I’m a girl. And I’m perfectly aware I’m a girl, you stupid.”

Mr. Reed was gazing rather fondly at Arya until he caught Jon’s eye on him and averted his eyes. Jon was smiling at the siblings’ interaction though. He had no siblings of his own but living in the midshipmen’s berth had been an eye-opening experience for how young people behaved towards one another when there were no adults around and they got used to each other. Jon’s mind began to wander back to the other Stark girl aboard soon enough though and he looked down on deck to admire her from a distance…but she wasn’t there.

“I should return to your sister, children. Mr. Reed, see that they reach the deck safely when they’ve had enough of the view.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

Jon put his arms and legs out to grasp the backstay before he launched himself towards the deck in a smooth slide, landing with a thump. He’d had plenty of practice by now to help him keep his callused hands just this side of scorched. When he reached the deck, he found Miss Stark had moved closer to the edge of the quarterdeck and was speaking with Selmy as she pointed up towards something. But Grenn had appeared at her side and was leaning towards her to join the conversation. Jon felt a sudden irrational anger at the sight for some reason.

“Mr. Stanley, I thought you were helping Mr. Clegane’s party forward.”

Grenn looked a bit puzzled at Jon’s gruff tone and held up his sextant before he replied, “It’s nearly noon, sir. The captain will be up shortly and will be expecting us to take the latitude with him, even though we are anchored that is…sir.”

Jon inwardly cursed his snappishness and his utter forgetfulness of the time. Miss Stark was such a distraction to him and his ridiculous jealousy of her with his friend was hardly appropriate. It was nearly noon, the official start of a new day at sea. The time to measure their latitude and, though they were at anchor, Captain Mormont liked for the midshipmen to practice daily.

He looked up when he heard Mr. Reed urging Arya to take great care climbing down. He then noticed that he and Bran were preparing to have a race to the deck by sliding down the ropes as Jon had just done.

“Wait, Bran!” Jon shouted just a moment too late.

They were already underway hurtling towards the deck at breakneck speed. By the time the boy reached the deck, his eyes were filled with tears. His hands were a bloody ruin from grasping the rope too tightly. There was blood on the backstay, a piece of the standing rigging. Jon knew that Mr. Clegane would not be pleased that some lubber had bled all over his rigging. And there was blood dripping from poor Bran’s hands onto the pristine deck as well. Mr. Thorne would certainly not be please by that. But when Sansa gasped and held Bran’s hands tenderly with the palms turned up in her own and her own eyes filled with tears to match her brother’s, Jon felt a sudden tug at his heart and stopped worrying over Mr. Clegane and Mr. Thorne. He gave the necessary orders to fix what had been fouled and escorted them both to Dr. Seaworth’s sickbay.

 

* * *

“So, tell me, Jeor,” Sir Eddard said as the captain poured out the last two servings of the Madeira, “what brings you to our corner of the Med? There have been some interesting and troubling reports intelligence-wise.”

“Oh? And what’s that got to do with an old frigate captain like me?”

“You’re hardly just an old frigate captain, Jeor.”

It was true. Sir Jeor Mormont had been secretly involved in the Navy’s intelligence service for over 20 years and his ship’s surgeon, Dr. Davos Seaworth, every bit as long as that. He and Eddard Stark had met during the American War in Canada on a mission. Sir Jeor had later made Eddard’s escape from France with vital information about the early days of the revolution possible. His age and seniority should have meant a ship of the line for Captain Mormont but a ship of the line wasn’t as much use in intelligence work as a frigate. During the _Queenscrown’s_ time on the Brest blockade, the frigate had been sent in close to shore on several moonless nights to allow Dr. Seaworth to land and make contacts with pro-British/anti-revolutionary Frenchmen.

“Well, I’m not here for anything regarding ‘troubling reports’ if that was what you were thinking, Ned, though Davos may have his own orders. The fleet is short on supplies. Storms and the enemy have wreaked havoc on the store ships and we’re here to negotiate some sort of trade agreement with the Turks in Tunisia. I’m supposed to take a Mr. Terrance, of the diplomatic service, with us as he is an Arab scholar and will help aid our negotiations and handle the translating when we reach Alda Mehran.”

“Ah, so something a bit more straight forward for a change? That must be nice. I wonder sometimes how I ever ended up dealing with my particular line of work. It doesn’t really suit me at all, I find. I long to take the children back to England as soon as I can get away from it all though I suppose that’ll mean leaving Robb here on his own.” Ned sipped at his wine before continuing with another line of thought. “Your young lieutenant, Mr. Snow…what sort of man is he?”

“Oh, the very best sort, Ned. He’s Benjen Snow’s nephew, who you may remember from that mission in ’88. Not that the boy knows anything of such matters. But he’s an excellent young officer and I hope to see him commissioned soon. I passed over a midshipman five years his senior to promote him which has caused some bad blood aboard…at least from that fellow, but Snow was certainly the best choice. Why do you ask?”

“Oh…no reason. I admired his forbearance at dinner the other night. I meant to apologize as a host for any embarrassment or resentment that ass, Colonel Brown, caused him but time slipped away.”

“Well, speaking of the time…it’s nearly noon. Come, my friend, I must be on deck.”

 

* * *

“Quite unfortunate but your hands will mend soon enough, young man,” Dr. Seaworth said as he patted Bran on the head. “Miss Stark, your brother will need to wear soft, knitted gloves, none too tight, mind you, for at least a week as his hands heal. It would be best if he kept activities with his hands to a minimum during that time and you should be sure he washes and dries them thoroughly once a day. Make sure the hands are dry before he puts the gloves back on. Here is a small bottle of a salve that will help. Apply it at bedtime. You can leave the gloves off then as well."

“Thank you, doctor. Thank you so much for you care,” Miss Stark said.

“Tis nothing, child. I’ve given him a small dose of laudanum to help with the pain so, he may not be up to attending the captain’s dinner. He is welcome to rest here though.”

“Yes, thank you again. I will speak with my Papa and see what he wishes to do,” she said as she fondly ruffled brother’s hair. _Wonder what that would be like? To feel her fingers_ _running through my hair_.

“I’ll send Mr. Reed down to visit with you, Bran.”

“Thank you, Mr. Snow,” the boy said with a slight slur as the laudanum was already taking effect.

Jon escorted Sansa out of the sickbay. Arya had remained on deck with Mr. Reed and the lower deck was deserted for the present as noon approached. Once noon was declared and the hands were piped to dinner though, it would be transformed into the dining room for over a hundred and fifty men, loud and raucous.

“Mr. Snow, I am so sorry for any trouble we have caused.”

“Not at all, Miss Stark. I am very sorry for Bran’s injury. I wish I had had the presence of mind to act quicker. We’re rather used to rope burns in the navy but his was quite severe.”

Jon stopped walking and talking in the next moment for Sansa had placed her hand on his arm. He could feel the warmth of her skin through his broadcloth coat and his stomach gave a little flip of excitement.

“Mr. Snow…” she began as those blue eyes looked up at him sweetly from beneath her lashes. “You have been so very kind from the moment we first met. I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate it…how grateful I am to have made your acquaintance. I should very much like to call you my friend…if you will permit me. I don’t have many friends, you see. There aren’t any girls my age here that I am…well, never mind that…and I had hoped that perhaps you would not think me too forward…”

Jon just stood staring at her with a confused and slightly blank expression. _Does she truly wish to be friends with me? I should like that very much_. As he stood there considering her words, her eyes fell and she bowed her head as she turned to walk again. Jon felt his heart pounding in his chest and realized he was being an awkward ass…yet again…just as his uncle would’ve expected. _Say something!_

“Miss Stark,” he said called out loudly and she came to an abrupt stop and turned back towards him. He strode towards her purposefully and said, “Your words are too kind and forgive my momentary lapse. I was merely…well, quite surprised…and pleased by what you said. Please allow me to respond now and say how much…how very much I have enjoyed your company today and the other evening.” Jon took a step closer and then added, “And please permit me to say how very honored I would be to claim a friendship with you.”

Without thinking, Jon had taken her by the hand. When he realized it, he looked up into her eyes once more. Her cheeks had turned pink and he knew he was now the one being quite forward, too forward by far. They were standing close together and quite alone for the moment. It would be such a simple thing to lean forward and kiss her lips…a simple thing that would be totally inappropriate and quite scandalous. But, Sansa was looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty in her eyes and he wondered if she would slap him if he dared as he would certainly deserve or if she would not mind it. He noticed her staring at his lips as she licked her own and Jon nearly allowed a groan of desire to escape at seeing her pink tongue swipe across her sweet lips.

Before the battle between his honor and his desire was decided though, the almighty din of the hands being piped to dinner began. He hadn’t even heard the bell strike noon but it must’ve. The hands couldn’t be piped to dinner until noon was declared and the captain or officer of the watch gave the order. As the men came tromping below to lower their mess tables and start serving up their dinner, Jon suggested they returned to the quarterdeck and he led her away.

 

* * *

“I am so sorry, Mr. Thorne. I was lost in thought for a moment,” Sansa said as she was brought back to the present.

“No matter, Miss Stark. I was just asking if you’d care for more pudding.”

“No, thank you, Mr. Thorne. I am quite full.”

“Miss Arya?”

“Yes, please. This is delicious. Dog’s body? Is that what you called it? It seems a funny name.”

Sansa wanted to step on Arya’s foot to get her to shut up about the sailor’s strange food and stranger names but she was out of reach. She looked up as a shadow crossed the cabin’s skylight above them and wondered if it were Mr. Snow pacing the deck.

“Yes, Miss Arya. My personal favorite when it comes to puddings though is boiled baby,” Mr. Thorne responded with relish.

“Some call it drowned baby, I believe,” Dr. Seaworth added.

“How positively savage,” Arya replied with a laugh.

Captain Mormont sat at the head of the table with her father on his right and Arya on his left. Mr. Thorne sat at the foot of the table with Sansa on his right and Mr. Tarly sat on the other side of her and the master between him and Arya. Mr. Yoren sat across from her with Dr. Seaworth between him and her father. Bran had been unable to attend the dinner but Mr. Reed had promised to sit with him and take him a bite to eat.

 _I think Mr. Snow wanted to kiss me there outside the sickbay…I think I might have liked it if he had_. Miss Murray’s voice in Sansa’s head gave a horrified gasp and Sansa giggled to herself before she caught her father and Dr. Seaworth looking at her and smiling.

“Ahem…is it usual for ladies to retire from the table after dining when aboard, Mr. Tarly?” Sansa whispered to her neighbor.

“We don’t have ladies dine aboard much, Miss Stark, but I think perhaps so but not until after we drink the king. And we drink him seated by the way…less likely to crack your skull on the low beams that way,” the young man responded with a smile.

“Thank you,” Sansa said sweetly. “Have you served aboard long, Mr. Tarly?” _How long have you known Mr. Snow?_

“Nearly four years, Miss Stark.”

“Oh, quite a while then. And do you like the sea?”

“Well, it’s very wet I’m told but I prefer the ship since I can’t actually swim.”

Sansa laughed and said, “Are you always so witty, Mr. Tarly?”

“Well, I…I’m…uh…yes,” he finished with a squeak as Captain Mormont addressed her.

“Your father has told me you are quite a linguist, Sansa. What languages do you speak?” Captain Mormont asked.

“My father is being too kind but I do speak French and Spanish. I know a good deal of Latin and Greek thanks to my brother’s tutors.”

“And Arabic,” Papa prompted.

“Arabic? That’s singular,” Dr. Seaworth said with sudden interest.

“Oh, I can speak it well enough for conversation but I can’t read or write it. It’s just something I’ve picked up when we have travelled with Papa to Algeciras a few times. And there was a Muslim man that would come and visit Papa for business from time to time and he would teach me words and phrases and help me practice.”

“Well, Ned, if my Arab scholar fails to turn up, perhaps His Majesty’s Navy will have to press your dear daughter into service on its behalf.” Papa gave his old friend a wry look and sipped his wine as Sansa wondered what the captain meant by that. “Will you sing a song for us, my dear? After dinner?”

“If it should please, you, Sir Jeor, I will gladly sing a song.” _And I will pitch my voice upwards so that anyone on deck might hear me sing,_ she finished with an inward smile.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The captain has a great favor to ask of Sansa. Miss Stark adjusts to life aboard a man-o-war. Mr. Snow is worried over his upcoming responsibilities and behaves foolishly.

“Dead? What do you mean Mr. Terrance is dead?”

“I’m pretty sure you understand the meaning of the word, Jeor,” Davos replied with his customary frankness. “The surgeon of the brig he was sailing in asked me to come over and have a look at the body. Possibly the first fatality I’ve ever seen caused by seasickness, poor soul.” Mormont just continued to look at him crossly. “I’m just the messenger, my friend. So, any ideas? I don’t know Arabic. The admiral hasn’t turned up a reliable Arab to help in this matter and time is running out. We can’t keep the bey waiting much longer.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Mormont finally said, “but I don’t know how well it will go over with the young lady, her father…or the Turks for that matter.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Captain Sir Jeor Mormont here to see you, Miss Sansa.”

“I beg your pardon, Jennings? Surely, he’s here for Sir Eddard.” _Oh…did he bring anyone with him?_

“No, miss, your father is already with him but the Captain is here to see you.”

Sansa laid down the book that she had just obtained a copy of that morning, ‘Practical Seamanship,’ that Mr. Snow had recommended for her to share with her pupils. She smoothed down her skirts and followed the butler to the drawing room.

“I know this is entirely unorthodox, Ned,” Sir Jeor was saying as Sansa entered the room. “Ah, my dear Sansa,” he continued when he saw her.

“Don’t ‘my dear Sansa’ her, Jeor! Captain Mormont is here to ask you a very great favor, Sansa. And while I am reluctant to agree, I have decided to allow you to make the choice, my daughter.”

“Sansa,” Sir Jeor began again, “we have a great need in the fleet for someone who speaks Arabic. What I am asking of you would be a lot to ask of any civilian but…a young lady, such as yourself…I can hardly hope that you will acquiesce but His Majesty’s Navy is in dire need.”

“I would hear what you are asking, Sir Jeor, but allow me to say that I would be happy to be of service to my country in any small way that I can.”

 

* * *

“You can’t be serious, sir.”

“Do I look like I’m jesting, Mr. Thorne?”

“But, Miss Stark is a young lady. How are we to accommodate a young lady aboard all the way to Alda Mehran?”

“Alliser, you know perfectly well that wives and sisters of officers are often given passage from one place to another aboard His Majesty’s ships. It’s true that _I_ have not done so very often…”

“At all…” Davos interjected.

“Thank you, Davos… _at all_ then. But, we need Miss Stark’s help if we’re to complete our mission to Alda Mehran. It’s only about a week to ten days’ sailing as long as the breeze holds. A day or so for the negotiations and then a week or so to return. And Drogo Bey is very particular that he won’t negotiate in English with us even if he has people there that speak it. We must have a translator.”

“But, sir, how likely do you think he is to negotiate with a woman or a woman translator in any event?” Thorne asked. “You know how the Muslims are. There are Englishmen I could name who would refuse to negotiate in trade with a woman but the Muslims are more tetchy by far about such things.”

“Well, I’m putting a bit of faith in my goddaughter’s sweet face and impeccable manners to win the day for us there. I’ve not got much else to go with anyway. I’ll send her ashore with an officer and a small division of men, plus a detachment of marines. It should be safe enough.”

“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself,” Davos said with a smile. “Which officer is to go with her?”

“Snow, I think. He’s bright and eager to prove himself and Yoren don’t have much patience with foreigners. And you, doctor, I’m sending you as well.”

“Snow,” Thorne said with his customary contempt. “Do you wish for me to send for him then?”

“Yes, Mr. Thorne, please pass the word for Lieutenant Snow to report to the cabin.” Mormont sighed when his First Lieutenant had left and cast a haggard look at Dr. Seaworth. “Well, Davos? Say your peace. I know you will anyway.”

“It could work. I’ll be certain she’s well trained in the basics of dealing with the Turks, especially as a woman. Do you think she knows anything of her father’s affairs? If he’s given her any training at all, she could be quite…”

“No, Davos. I don’t think Ned wants that for any of his children, least of all his daughters. Otherwise?”

“I suppose it’s the best we’ve got to work with.”

“Yes…Snow will be there to represent the service and me but you will guide him in the actual negotiations. He’s young and I don’t want him committing us to more than we’re willing to give…or getting offended and calling things off over trifling matters. Sansa will act as the translator only. Drogo Bey is not rumored to be the most devout of Muslims which may be in our favor with Ramadan approaching. There are some that’d have no dealings with her during that time.”

“I don’t think we’ll have to worry about the bey being repulsed by Miss Stark…quite the opposite, I’d say. There is one other matter I’d like to address. I noticed a certain…how shall I put this… _interest_ between young Snow and Miss Stark when she was aboard the other day. She’s your goddaughter. Do you really mean to send her ashore on this detached sort of mission with no proper chaperone?”

“My dear doctor…that’s exactly where you come in,” Mormont responded with a smile just as there was a knock on the door indicating the arrival of Mr. Snow.

 

* * *

 

Jon paced the quarterdeck alone again in the middle watch. He was anxious for what the next day would bring. He’d been in sole command once before nearly two years earlier when he had been the head of a prize crew taking a capture into port. He’d been extremely nervous then to be in charge of half a dozen men plus the prisoners and the prize itself but had managed to see the little French sloop to port without any difficulties. But now, he was to lead a much larger expedition. Twenty men, half a dozen Marines and the doctor would accompany him into Alda Mehran when they reached it. He would be in nominal charge of conducting negotiations with the Turkish ruler there although he knew why the doctor was coming along… _to make sure I don’t foul it up too badly_. And worst of all… _and best of all_ …Miss Sansa Stark would accompany them all. She was to come aboard early the next morning before the tide so that the ship could get underway and head for the Tunisian port. It should take seven days or so if the breeze held true but also possibly much slower. It all depended on the wind of course and any sailor that didn’t wish to run mad had to learn to deal with the caprices of nature and accept that they would get there when they got there.

The harbour there, though part of a fertile valley, was difficult to get at and the ship would anchor a good ways from shore. The launch would take the negotiating party ashore and they would remain ashore until the trade negotiations were completed for good or ill before returning to the ship. Then, they would make the return trip to Gibraltar to deliver their news to the admiral and deliver Miss Stark back to her family. A store ship, _Francine_ , was to accompany them with the hopes that it would be stocked full of beef cattle from the Arabs for the fleet upon the return trip.

 _Simple and straight forward, Jon. Dr. Seaworth will aid with the negotiating, Sansa will do the translating, and you’ll be in command of the men and the mission…simple_.

Jon had been repeating those words to himself throughout the watch.

He had taken the opportunity while he was in the cabin the day before to address his concerns of Trant’s treatment of the young gentlemen to the captain. Mormont had listened to him patiently and said he was aware of much of what Jon was saying. He promised to cast a closer eye on the midshipmen’s berth and told Jon to focus on his own upcoming task. The captain had then reminded him that Miss Stark was a young lady and that it was up to him and Dr. Seaworth to ensure that she was treated with the utmost respect by the men under him and that her safety was of paramount importance at all times. Jon could’ve responded that he didn’t need to be told any of these things and already felt a maddening desire to protect Miss Stark from any insult or injury at all costs but simply agreed with his captain. As his goddaughter, the captain was vouching for her safety and protecting her reputation aboard and the doctor would act as her chaperone ashore since he was an older, married gentleman.

Jon paced on and finally acknowledged what worried him most this night. She would be here…he already thought of her constantly but what would it be like when she was aboard and they were in daily contact for an extended period of time. _Two weeks in her company at least…how will I ever manage to contain my feelings for her that long?_

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa was hoisted aboard in the early morning light feeling rather like a sack of turnips in the bosun’s chair they had provided once more for her to be hauled aboard safely and with her modesty intact. She had worn a serviceable but plain brown dress and brought only one trunk which contained her shifts, a shawl and two other dresses; a pretty, blue day dress and a modest but lovely lilac gown in case she was expected to dress for dinner in the cabin again or if she would be expected to dress more formally in Alda Mehran. She would have no maid though and chose simple gowns and would keep her hair styled simply as well.

Mr. Yoren was on deck when she arrived and greeted her. Sansa smoothed her hands down over the front of her skirts to wipe the sweat from her palms. She was terribly nervous entering this very foreign and very male world on her own. Robb and Gabriel had been outraged at Papa for allowing her to go and outraged at Sir Jeor for even suggesting such a thing. Gabriel had mostly been outraged that her father was allowing her to go on such a mission while he still refused to allow him to join the army. Robb, on the other hand, had been more concerned for his sister’s welfare aboard a ship full of sailors and in a foreign port. He had had an earful of advice to give her about keeping the men in their place and the officers, too.

“You must keep to yourself as much as possible. The more familiar you are to them the more comfortable they’ll become about approaching you. You must not let that be the case. Sailors are used to a world that is complex enough in its own way but simpler, too. On land, there is an entirely different sex to interact with. At sea, it is usually only men. A young lady in their midst may cause problems, you see…jealousies to arise.”

Sansa wasn’t entirely sure how her mere presence would cause problems. She didn’t plan on acting inappropriately in any way but she did not wish to cause issues aboard and she nodded at her brother’s words.

Captain Mormont had given over his sleeping and dining compartments of the cabin to her use and kept himself in the great cabin aft and had a hammock slung there. Sansa slept and washed in his sleeping compartment in a cot hung a foot lower than usual to make it easier for her to climb in at night. She soon found she slept as soundly there as she did in her bed at home. The gentle rocking of the hammock with the movement of the ship was comforting throughout the night. She used his dining cabin for her day time pursuits of reading, writing or embroidery. When the captain was on deck, she often sat in the window seat by the bow window in the great cabin and watched the wake trail behind the ship as they sailed ever onward.

Despite Robb’s words, she found that she enjoyed being on deck as often as she reasonably could without being in the way. The fresh air at sea was enjoyable and the seamen always busy going about their tasks was much more interesting than sitting below all the time. But, there was one thing that had been troubling her in the three days since she had come aboard. Lieutenant Snow had kept a noticeable distance from her and she wondered at it. _Perhaps he is busy studying for his examination when he’s not on duty as Mr_. _Tarly suggested_. Mr. Tarly was a sweet and friendly young man and had no reservations about speaking to Sansa when his duty permitted it. He told her much about Mr. Snow, who was apparently his close friend. She had spoken to Mr. Snow once or twice in passing of course but their words had been brief and there had been a slight curtness in his tone that had wounded her. He seemed to go out of his way to avoid her when possible as well but perhaps she was imagining that. _He is forever climbing up to those blasted_ _tops when I am on deck. I rarely see Mr. Thorne or Mr. Yoren aloft. Perhaps it is because he is the youngest and fittest of them though_.

And, this very morning, she had asked him a rather straight-forward question regarding the sails and brusquely been told that he would have to answer her questions when he had some liberty. He was quite taken up with the new cross-catharpins or some such thing at present. She watched his retreating form and chewed her lip trying to maintain her countenance as Mr. Altin and two of the men on the quarterdeck looked aghast at their lieutenant. Had they not agreed to be friends? Was he unhappy that she was here? Was he annoyed by the notion of a young lady being aboard for more than a few hours as some of the men seemed to be?

Mr. Clegane, the bosun, was a very gruff man with an intimidating countenance. Mr. Tarly had told her that his face had been burned by an exploding gun when he was younger and now the right-side of his face was quite scarred. Sansa hated to admit that she was frightened to look upon the man. He was also one of the men that seemed offended by her mere presence. He huffed and groused when she would be in the way and the only time Sansa had tried to speak to him he had been even more terse than Mr. Snow.

On Sansa’s forth afternoon aboard, she was sitting near the taffrail after supper on a cheese of wads that Mr. Stanley had had placed for her comfort when Mr. Clegane and his mate, Red Thoros, came aft to see to a matter with the rigging. They climbed to the mizentop but the breeze carried their words down to her all the same.

“A woman, Thoros…if there’s one thing I can’t abide it’s a woman aboard the barky.”

“Company, Sandor, company…Voices carry, you know.”

“What of it? Bloody Arabs wasting our time and now this.”

“You don’t mind Smith’s wife.”

“That’s not the same…the old gal’s one of us.”

“Well, we shall see what we shall see,” Thoros replied in a knowing tone.

 _Whatever does that mean?_ Sansa thought to herself in her embarrassment. He cheeks grew red. If she could hear their words, the officers and men on the quarterdeck probably could as well. Mr. Snow was on duty pacing along the windward side and had not looked her way once the whole time she had sat there though.

“Will you look at this mass of string them wicked dogs at the dockyard have sent us, trying to pass it off as a piece of Christian rope? The buggers. Incest is nothing to the likes of them, the fucking sods.”

“Watch your mouth, Thoros. The lady’s below,” Mr. Clegane’s replied sharply.

Sansa snickered to herself at Mr. Clegane’s interesting sense of what was appropriate to say and what was not in the presence of a lady. A shadow fell across her back and she turned to find Sam Tarly smiling down at her.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Tarly.”

“Good afternoon, Miss Stark,” he replied with an uneasy look towards the top where Mr. Clegane and Thoros were still bickering loudly over their ropes. “Did you enjoy your supper?”

“Yes, the captain is a gracious host and Dr. Seaworth is an enjoyable dining companion. The other officers seem so mute at the captain’s table,” she added in a whisper.

“Oh, that’s just the way of the service. There’s a feeling that anyone below the rank of post-captain can’t really speak freely at the captain’s table unless the captain starts the conversation. It makes for an awkward dinner at times and heavy going for the host certainly but it is what it is.”

“Dr. Seaworth doesn’t seem to keep quiet though.”

“Well, he’s sort of an anomaly in the service…of course, we’re all quite fond of him aboard and proud to have such a fine doctor to see to our needs but he says what he pleases to the captain, I find. They’ve been friends time out of mind, I believe.”

Sansa started to say more when a deep and very harsh voice broke in on their conversation.

“Mr. Tarly! Do you not have some duties to attend to? If I’m not mistaken you are supposed to be helping Mr. Altin’s division prepare to hoist up the new mainsail, are you not?”

Mr. Snow had joined them and was casting a thunderous expression at his friend at present. Sansa’s eyes widened at his tone and his obvious anger and couldn’t help but feel that it was all her fault that poor Mr. Tarly was being humiliated in this way.

“Yes, Jon…I mean, aye-aye, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“Well then, why don’t you stop yammering at Miss Stark and go see to your duty if that’s not too much trouble for you?”

“No, sir…I mean, aye-aye, sir,” the poor man said as he cast Sansa an apologetic look and hurried off forward.

Sansa wondered if Mr. Snow would finally speak with her now and rather hoped for once that he wouldn’t. And if he did, would he berate her for distracting Mr. Tarly? She was angry at his treatment of his friend even if Sam had been shirking his duties to speak with her. Perhaps this was what Robb had meant by her causing problems being aboard. Perhaps she would be better off remaining below as much as possible and out of sight. Mr. Snow turned towards her now and looked as though he planned to apologize for his behavior or tone but Sansa suddenly decided she would have none of it at present.

“Good day to you now, Mr. Snow,” she said primly as she rose from her seat and swept past him without a backwards glance to return to the cabin.

She could hear Mr. Clegane and Thoros hooting and laughing loudly as she walked away, no doubt having heard the interchange just as she had heard theirs earlier until their young lieutenant called out ‘Silence!’ with much vexation.

 

* * *

 

Jon had apologized to Sam after quarters that evening. Sam had understood him very well…better than Jon had understood his own behavior at the time…and that only made Jon feel worse. He was jealous over Sansa, jealous of any officer or man that was speaking to her. A large part of the problem was he was afraid of speaking with her himself now. He hadn’t been before when they had met at her father’s home and when she had come aboard for dinner the other day but now he was. He was afraid of what he would say to her because the things he wanted to say to her just couldn’t be. He admired her…he adored her…he wanted her…he loved her.

 _You’re such a bloody fool, Jon. The first young lady to speak kindly to you and you fancy yourself in love with her. Bloody hopeless_.

So, he had avoided her as much as possible since she came aboard and been abrupt the few times he had been forced to speak to her even though his conscience and Davos kept reminding him that she likely felt very out of place aboard the ship and lonely in such strange and new surroundings. Jon remembered how he had felt when he was newly joined. It was not the most pleasant of times but at least he had been a member of the ships’ company and been one of the men and officers-in-training from the start. He had known his place aboard ship. Sansa had no place. She was 16 years-old and alone, away from her family for certainly the first time in her life and nearly completely isolated by her sex on the one hand and her social standing on the other. He had accepted her friendship and then dismissed it. He had dismissed her. How could he claim he was her friend if he treated her thusly?

Now, he had made matters worse by far. He had not only ignored her and been terse with her but he’d made fool of himself with that little display by the taffrail that afternoon. He’d acted out of jealousy that he had no right to feel and allowed himself to behave like a tyrant…something completely abhorrent to him. He had been called to the cabin soon after and feared he would be receiving a dressing down from the captain for upsetting Miss Stark. He had passed the captain’s dining compartment where Miss Stark sat reading ‘Practical Seamanship’ which he had recommended to her days ago. She didn’t even glance up at him and Jon felt completely miserable. And the captain had only wished to cover a few points about the harbour conditions at Alda Mehran.

That night it was the sweetest evening with a clear sky and the breeze was lovely combined with the warm weather. The captain had turned the watch below up on deck to dance and sing as they pleased. Jon should have been studying for his examination but the noise was distracting and, along with his burning shame over his earlier behavior, he found the gunroom oppressive. He went up on deck to find Sam or Old Selmy to speak with and perhaps see if he could make some sort of amends to Miss Stark. _I have no idea what to_ _say to her but I need to say something…preferably something that doesn’t make matters worse_.

Sam was not on deck and he headed forward to seek Selmy. The men parted ways before him and made their obeisance as he passed. He did not wish to disturb their merriment with his presence. Lieutenant Snow was a different matter than Mr. Midshipman Snow it seemed and he realized that he could no longer enjoy the same level of closeness with his men now. They could be close but just on a different plain as he rose in rank and he was no longer able to participate in their fun. He turned to head back towards the quarterdeck when he spotted Miss Stark sitting with Mrs. Smith, the gunner’s wife.

“Good evening, madam. Good evening, Miss Stark,” he said with a bow after walking over to where they sat along the rail.

“Good evening, sir,” Mrs. Smith replied with her friendly smile.

“Good evening, Mr. Snow,” Sansa said with cool courtesy.

Mrs. Smith smiled wider glancing from him to Sansa and back before asking Jon how he did and if he were enjoying the pleasant evening. Sansa looked down at her hands and picked at a loose thread on her blue dress. _You look beautiful in that shade of blue…no, you can say that, you idiot. Apologize…or something_ … Jon stood uncertainly trying to attend to what Mrs. Smith was saying as his eyes kept wandering to Sansa. He wondered what he could possibly say to make matters return to the comfortable rapport they had shared previously. Apparently, Mrs. Smith had her own suggestions though.

“Mr. Snow, you could do me a great kindness, sir. Miss Stark had asked me about the great guns. Poor dear no doubt assumed that I would know a thing or two about such things as gunner’s wife but old Smith doesn’t ever have much to say. Perhaps you would be so kind as to answer her questions, sir?”

Sansa’s brow creased with annoyance as Mrs. Smith talked and she bit her lower lip. Jon was just about to say that he would be delighted to answer Miss Stark’s question when she said, “Surely, Mr. Snow is busy and does not wish to be bothered with silly questions from of a girl such as myself. Thank you for your company this evening, Mrs. Smith, but I believe I will retire for tonight. Good evening. And good evening to you, Mr. Snow.”

She rose and left his presence for the second time that day, leaving Jon feeling totally at a loss and bereft once more.

“Oh, dear me, Mr. Snow. Whatever you did, you’d better fix it,” Mrs. Smith said with an empathetic look. “Smith says she can speak that foreign gobble-de-gook. If you’re to take the young lady into that port with them heathens all about, you’d better fix this or she may just tell them Arabs to boil you alive…or worse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tunisia fell under the control of the Ottoman Empire at this time but Alda Mehran is fictitious. It's not supposed to be a history lesson or anything though...lol.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon attempts to make amends with Miss Stark. Sansa is impressed by a display of the ship's gunnery.

He had not seen her since last night when she had left him standing next to Mrs. Smith and feeling like a foolish boy. She had not emerged from the cabin this morning though he’d heard her laughter through the cabin skylight while she was breakfasting with the captain, Mr. Thorne and Mr. Stanley when Jon was on duty. She’d not come out around noon like she often did either. Jon heard Grenn mentioning to Pyp how sweet and lovely Miss Stark was and how he wished he had a girl like her to court as they were standing near him on deck and supposedly taking the noon observation.

“Mr. Stanley, look to your sextant!” Jon barked out rather harshly and felt a small amount of satisfaction when Grenn looked abashed and returned to his task. _It’s a very feeble_ _sort of satisfaction though_ , Jon reflected.

Jon had decided the night before as he had tossed and turned in his cot to make a peace offering when he saw her again. He knew she enjoyed reading and imagined that it must get rather dull aboard with no assigned duties. And, while ‘Practical Seamanship’ was informative, it was a rather dry, tedious book. One of his favorite novels was a collection of fictional stories about the sea and the ships that sailed upon it. It might not be the greatest work of literature ever but it was enjoyable and a perfectly acceptable piece to share with her. He thought he would ask Miss Stark if she cared to read it… _after you apologize for acting like an ass_. But he couldn’t very well make his peace offering if he didn’t see her.

He couldn’t go to the cabin uninvited unless he was sent with a message for the captain or summoned there. Midshipmen were usually the message bearers though, lieutenants were not. He saw Dr. Seaworth come and go from the cabin and envied his relationship with Mormont that permitted him to go and visit his friend, who happened to be the captain, as it suited him.

Miss Stark not come out this afternoon even though the day was fine and the heat was not oppressive. Jon knew this because he had been lingering on the quarterdeck all day, even when he was not on duty, hoping she would appear. Mr. Thorne took notice of the acting lieutenant’s continued presence on deck and sent him to the hold with the carpenter to see to a noticeable leak that needed attending. When Jon returned to the quarterdeck an hour later, he hurried over to Sam and asked if Miss Stark had come on deck. He exhaled a sigh of relief when Sam reported that she had not.

“Is she ever going to leave his cabin?” Jon asked irritably next. “I need a chance to speak with her…after I…it doesn’t matter. I’ve went and ruined everything, Sam. She’s probably going to avoid me now just like I did to her. Probably what I deserve anyway.”

“I don’t think it’s ruined, Jon. I’d wager it’s very fixable,” his friend responded with a grin.

“What makes you think that?”

“I’ve got two sisters. I know how girls can be.”

“I was all my fault though,” he said miserably.

“Well, yes…that is true. It was all your own doing.”

“Thanks for that, Sam” he said with a scowl as his friend laughed.

That evening before quarters though, she finally appeared. They were to exercise the great guns as they did most evenings when they were at sea and the seas were not too rough. Captain Mormont had always stressed that the men must be used to their guns before they ever entered battle. They needed to be able to go through the motions of loading, firing, and sponging out the guns automatically without thought because in the middle of battle with the enemy firing at them, they wouldn’t have time to stand about wondering which step came next in the deadly dance. And the only way to really get them to this precision was practice, lots of practice.

“What the bleeding hell?” Jon heard Mr. Clegane say to his mate when she came on deck and walked to the taffrail to stand next to Dr. Seaworth.

“Silence, fore and aft,” Jon called. _What the bleeding hell? Why is she on deck? She’s never been on deck when we’ve practiced. And tonight, there’s the competition._

The carpenter had made some junk rafts for them to use as targets this evening, three targets for each watch. Those had been towed out by the red and blue cutters and left at a specified distance from each other. There would be a competition between the starbowlines and the larbowlines to see who could destroy their targets the fastest and most completely. The prize was bragging rights along with an extra tot of rum…a prize greatly valued by the men anyway and they loved this kind of thing. It was good for discipline and it helped make a happy ship. In Captain Mormont’s opinion, a well-disciplined, happy ship was the only effective fighting machine and Jon agreed with his captain.

As the final preparations were being completed, he swallowed his pride and made his way swiftly over to Miss Stark and the doctor.

“Good evening, Miss Stark. Good evening, Doctor.”

“Good evening, Mr. Snow. Are you ready for the competition?” the doctor asked.

“Yes, sir,” he answered before turning to her. “Miss Stark, I wanted to say…”

“Mr. Snow! Is the taffrail your battle station, sir?” Mr. Thorne called out.

“No, sir!” he responded and bowed his head towards her.

She gave him a quick appraising glance before turning towards the doctor once more. He hurried to his station before Thorne decided to check him further. _Brilliant, Jon…you_ _just made a bigger fool of yourself…this is bloody hopeless_. Jon stepped back to his place just as the captain gave the signal and the midshipmen started to report their divisions.

“All ready, sir,” Grenn reported his division to Jon, his immediate superior.

“All ready, sir,” Pyp reported next.

“Starbowlines all ready, sir,” Jon then reported to Mr. Thorne.

“Larbowlines all ready, sir,” Mr. Yoren reported to Mr. Thorne.

“Both watches all ready, sir,” Mr. Thorne then reported to the Captain.

“Very good, Mr. Thorne. Starbowlines to fire as they bear.”

Jon was nervous about Sansa being on deck and watching the men under him. He felt like if they didn’t do well he would be diminished in her eyes even more and he wasn’t certain he could stand much more of that at present. But, when the order to fire was given and as the great guns began to roll out their thunder and when the heady smell of gunpowder reached his nostrils, instinct took over and Jon was suddenly not thinking about Miss Stark’s presence or his recent failures there at all. He paced behind each gun, allowing Grenn and Pyp their roles but also closely following the fall of each shot. The first target was badly damaged by their broadside but if they were quick enough they could probably get a second round aimed at it before the second target was in range.

“Reload!” he called and the men went through their perfectly choreographed roles as though it truly were a dance. “Ready?”

“Ready, sir!” Grenn and Pyp replied.

“Fire as they bear!” he shouted.

The second broadside destroyed the first target completely. Pyp was grinning broadly at Jon but there was no time for celebrating their success.

“Make ready!” he called.

The guns were reloaded and they destroyed the second target with one broadside. They had a moment to catch their breaths and Jon’s somewhat fire-deafened ears heard a thin chirping or hooting sound and something like clapping before he returned to his business of readying the men. Jon wiped the sweat from his brow and wished he could remove his jacket. Most of the men firing the guns had stripped to the waist and had tied their bandanas around their heads to keep the sweat out of their eyes.

As they approached the third target Jon called out again, “Fire as they bear!” The guns roared. They were jumping off the deck the instance the match met the touchhole and ignited the gunpowder, they were so hot now. “Check that breaching!” he called to Grenn and indicated which gun he was concerned over before he went to help another gun crew shift their enormous beast back into position. The first round had not quite destroyed the third target but the second round did. But, the men had worked so quickly that he would swear they could squeeze in a third broadside.

“Reload!” he cried.

 

* * *

 

 

“My God…he’s going to get in a third broadside,” Dr. Seaworth said at her side.

Sansa was watching the activity with rapt attention but noted the awe in his voice. “Is that good, Doctor?” she said breathlessly.

“Yes, Miss Stark. That is very good.”

When the final gun was fired and the last of the starbowlines’ targets were destroyed, Sansa clapped and shouted once more. She was fairly certain that it was not something usually done but her godfather had only smiled at her when she’d done it the first time. And she was so overwhelmed with excitement and some strange passion at the sound and power of the guns that she had to express it somehow. She was fascinated by the whole exercise but it was Mr. Snow that her eyes sought most often. When his queue had come loose at one point and he ran a hand through his curly hair, she felt her heart skip a beat. He had tied his lovely curls back once more when he had a moment to do so. His face was flushed and he was sweating from his exertions. When he reached up and wiped the sweat from his brow, Sansa felt the strangest little flutter in her belly. And when he barked out an order and continued the bark out orders in his deep, gravelly voice, the flutter seemed to travel downward from her belly and cause the sweetest ache. Sansa realized with a blush that she had her hands pressed against her breasts and was breathing rather raggedly when the Captain called out to him.

“Well done, Mr. Snow. Well done, men.”

The starbowlines gave a triumphant cheer and the poor larbowlines looked positively depressed to have to follow their performance. Mr. Snow was congratulating his men and Mr. Stanley and Mr. Altin for their good work. He glanced back towards quarterdeck and their eyes met. Sansa gave him the most winning smile she possessed. His eyes widened in surprise and then he smiled broadly in return. _He has such a lovely smile_. She started to check herself for smiling at him when she wasn’t entirely sure she was ready to forgive him but decided she’d had enough of that. She kept smiling at him for another moment until he was forced to return his attention to his men. _You can’t stay mad now, Sansa_ , she thought as she turned her own attention back to Dr. Seaworth once more.

Poor Mr. Yoren and the larbowlines made a credible effort but they couldn’t match the starbowlines accuracy or speed this night. Mr. Yoren seemed to take defeat with good grace and shook Mr. Snow’s hand in a gesture of good will. As the men went about the task of securing the guns, Mr. Snow was called to the quarterdeck by the captain. Sansa felt a nervous flutter and considered returning to the cabin that she had been hiding out in all day but that would not do. She would not run off like a coward now that she had decided she was no longer cross with him.

“That was an excellent exercise, Mr. Snow. I’m very pleased with how you’ve managed to get the entire watch to work so well together considering that you’ve only been in charge of it a fortnight at most. Don’t you agree, Mr. Thorne?”

“Yes, sir,” Mr. Thorne said with little of his captain’s enthusiasm.

“Thank you, sir. But I’m sure that most of the credit goes to Mr. Yarwyck’s training,” Mr. Snow concluded modestly.

He glanced over at Sansa and the captain’s attention turned towards her. “Oh, Sansa, my dear! What did you think of the great gun exercise? Not too noisy for you?”

“No, sir. I was…the exercise was quite thrilling, sir. Please, permit me to congratulate you and your men, Mr. Snow, for a very fine performance.”

“Thank you, Miss Stark,” he said with a bow.

“Yes, very good indeed,” the doctor said. “Would you care to return below, miss?”

“No thank you, doctor. If the captain does not object, I should like to enjoy the evening breeze on deck.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Miss Stark? I was wondering if I might speak with you a moment,” Jon said as he approached the taffrail.

He’d been waiting for the Captain and Thorne and Davos to finally leave her alone long enough for him to approach. He was not on watch this night and no one could raise an objection to him coming to speak with her so long as she did not mind.

“Of course, Mr. Snow,” she replied.

Her lovely tresses glowed like embers in the moonlight and she had it braided down her back. She was wearing her blue gown again this evening. It was a deeper blue than her eyes but it set them off rather well, Jon thought.

“This is a book that I thought you might enjoy when…well, when you’re looking for something to do. It’s a collection of stories, nautical stories…it’s nothing grand but it’s one of my favorites.”

“Thank you, Mr. Snow. I should like having something new to read. I’m sure I will enjoy it.”

She looked up at him and Jon plunged ahead with what he had come to say.

“I’m sorry for the way I behaved yesterday. I’m sorry for the way I’ve behaved since you came aboard. I have no good excuse for my behaviour but I hope you’ll permit me to say that I have little experience in talking with young ladies. I was…well, I was nervous about spending more time with you and I feared I would make a fool of myself…which is exactly what I ended up doing.”

Sansa arched a brow at him and Jon felt his cheeks grow hot. He stood uncertainly under her gaze, fearing that she wasn’t going to respond or perhaps she’d get up and walk away again. He worried that perhaps he had only succeeded in making things even more awkward between them.

“That’s quite alright, Mr. Snow,” she finally said with a smile that allowed his heart to commence beating again. “You are certainly forgiven for the curtness, if you’ll permit me to use that term, of your tongue that past few days.”

Jon winched at her directness but had to admit he had been curt. “Thank you, Miss Stark. I’m sorry for any pain I caused you by behaving like an…uh…like an idiot.”

“Of course. What kind of friend would I be if I couldn’t forgive you?”

“I…I was afraid that perhaps I didn’t deserve your friendship anymore. I’m…thank you. Your friendship means a great deal to me, Miss Stark.”

“You will always have it, Mr. Snow,” she replied with a sincere nod.

He stood there next to her as she sat on her make-shift seat once more and they watched the phosphorescent wake swirl behind the ship on the moonlit night. They stayed there talking together for over an hour until it was time for her to seek her cot at last.

 

* * *

 

Sansa’s hand slid down her side and she tried not to acknowledge what she was doing. ' _Ladies don’t ever do such things'_ , the voice of Miss Murray said in her head. But tonight she wanted to tell Miss Murray’s voice to…‘bugger off’ would’ve been a good term to use but it was not a phrase that readily came to Sansa’s mind so she just told the voice to be quiet.

She grasped her shift in her left hand and pulled it slowly up to her hip. Her right hand slid between her thighs and she gently touched her curls down there before dipping her finger in between her folds. She closed her eyes and pictured him. He was wiping sweat from his brow and calling out orders at first. Sansa’s finger slid along her folds until she found her little bud of pleasure and deftly circled it. She imagined him smiling at her when she entered her cunny with a finger. It was wet inside. Wetter than Sansa had ever noticed it being before. She started moving her finger in and out as her thumb still played at her bud. Her left hand let go of her shift and she reached up to grasp a breast. A second finger entered her secret wetness and her fingers moved quickly as her thumb stroked. The other hand touched and squeezed her breasts and teased a nipple into a hard peak. Sansa let out a low moan as something strange but delightful started building within her. She imagined him here. She pictured his calloused but warm and gentle hands doing the things that her hands were doing as she moved faster. She pictured his soft, full lips capturing her breast and licking and then Sansa could stand no more…

“Unnnnhh…ohhh…Jon,” she cried out into her pillow.

Sansa panted and blushed, pulling her shift back down. The sweet ache was still rolling through her body though when she heard Sir Jeor let out a thunderous fart in the cabin next to her. She giggled to herself, covering her mouth, and wondered how she would possibly be able to look Mr. Snow in the eye the next day.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Snow and Miss Stark go ashore in Tunisia. Jon's thoughts linger on Miss Stark and they meet with Drogo Bey. Sansa is preoccupied by her own thoughts of Mr. Snow though she is provoked into a spirited response by the bey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My tidbits of Arabic in this are straight from google translator, so apologies for any mistakes! Long chapter with some jonsa moments that I hope you will enjoy.

**Alda Mehran, off the coast of Tunisia**

_“Oh…yes…like that, Mr. Snow,” she gasped as he slid a finger into her warm, wet cunny._

_“_ _Call me Jon,” he rumbled in her ear._

_He pulled back to enjoy the view of Sansa stretched back on his cot. His eyes drank in the beauty of her creamy white skin and perfect breasts with her red hair fanned out across his pillow. He leaned down to kiss her sweet, pink lips and then her throat._

_“Oh, Jon…don’t stop, Jon…please…that feels so good,” she moaned as a he slid another finger inside and she writhed against him._

_“Sweet Sansa,” he groaned as he moved his mouth down to taste a pink nipple, to draw it into his mouth and suck until she shuddered beneath him_ …

“Lieutenant Snow! Mr. Snow! Captain’s compliments and he invites you to breakfast in the cabin, sir!” the adolescent voice of Mr. Guymon called out as the pounding on his door ceased.

Jon sat up with a start. His shirt was clinging to him, soaked through with sweat. His cock was throbbing painfully from his dream and he wanted nothing more than to take himself in hand at the moment and return to his erotic fantasy. Instead, he swung his legs over the edge of his cot.

“Mr. Snow?”

“Yes, I heard you!” he called with more than a little annoyance. “Please give the Captain my thanks and duty and tell him I will attend him presently!”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

The footsteps retreated and Jon splashed some water in his face from the basin. He changed shirts quickly and pulled on his breeches, boots and coat before he entered the gunroom. Davos was sitting at the table in his dark blue surgeon’s coat and sipping his morning coffee.

“Sleep well, Mr. Snow?” he asked with a grin.

“Yes. Thank you, Doctor.”

Jon finished tying his neckerchief and pulled his hair back in a queue before heading to the cabin. Davos was on his heels and Jon gave him an inquiring look.

“We’re summoned to go over a few last minute points with the Captain before we head off, I believe.”

“Oh…of course,” Jon replied.

The sentry at the door let them both in and they entered the cabin. Captain Mormont was freshly shaved, unlike Jon, and had obviously been up for a good while, unlike Jon. He was wearing his best coat, ablaze with gold buttons and gold bullion on his epaulets and sleeves, and Jon felt rather shabby in his second best coat, which was lacking any bullion at all naturally, until he noted that his second best was still in better shape that Davos’s coat…not that Davos put much effort in looking fine at any time.

“Good morning, gentlemen. Thank you for agreeing to join me,” the captain said with a smile.

 _As if there was an option_ , Jon thought but then dismissed his sarcasm. This was the service. A captain’s invitation may be little more than a nicely phrased command but the form of the thing was not to be rejected or reviled.

“Good morning, sir. Thank you for inviting us,” Jon replied.

Any other thoughts or observations Jon might have wished to contemplate slipped his mind then as Sansa walked into the great cabin from her sleeping compartment. She was wearing her plain brown woolen dress this morning but it wouldn’t have mattered to Jon if she wore dirty rags or a dress made of the finest silk woven through with all the colors of the rainbow. She was so lovely and fresh faced with a sweet smile on her lips. Her hair was unbound this morning and the glorious, shining copper was set afire by the reflected sunlight off the water that was streaming through the bow window. She glanced at him shyly before she curtsied to him and Davos both as they bowed in return.

“Good morning, Miss Stark,” Davos said and Jon repeated the greeting.

“Good morning, Doctor. Good morning, Lieutenant,” she replied with a smile. As the party moved towards the dining cabin, Sansa lightly touched his arm. Jon stopped and turned towards her wishing they could be alone for more than just a moment. “I finished the book last night that you loaned me, Mr. Snow.”

He smiled and said, “You’ve only had it two days. You’re a faster reader than I am.”

“Well, it’s not as if I have anything else to do during the day whereas you are so often busy with your duties. And to be honest, I couldn’t put it down last night until it was finished. The climatic suspense was thrilling but I’m so glad it ended happy. I prefer happy endings.”

“So do I, Miss Stark,” he responded and followed her to the table.

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa carefully arranged her skirts about her as she sat in the stern of the launch while the seamen were busy making sure everything was properly stowed. The ship’s blue cutter was already full of men and rowing down the long entrance to the harbor. The captain had decided to send the cutter in as well for this initial contact but they would be returning to the ship soon enough. There was hopes that the cutter would later aid the men in the launch with transferring the gold and requested guns to the Turks and bringing the cattle to the _Francine_. The _Francine_ herself was gliding along towards the harbor under the command of Captain Stannis Baratheon, a commander in the service, who was reportedly not pleased that a mere lieutenant, an acting one at that, had been given command of the mission ashore. Dr. Seaworth, who was seated next to her, had told her as much in confidence after breakfast that morning. The captain’s coxswain, Edd Tollett, stood at the tiller while Mr. Snow made sure all was as it should be before he took his seat in the stern across from her.

“Get her underway, Tollett,” he said.

“Aye, sir.”

The breeze was capricious so the seamen wound up rowing most of the way, nearly two miles to their intended landing place. Sansa was already sweating from the oppressive heat coming off the African coast and beating down from the noonday sun and she was not laboring as the men were.

Mr. Tarly had command of the blue cutter and he had already waved at her twice and called out to her as well as the boats were making their way down the harbor. Mr. Snow looked cross each time his friend did so and Sansa could not help but smile to herself when she would see his brow knit together in vexation at Sam’s open friendliness.

 _Is he jealous?_ she wondered. _There is no need for him to be_.

Since the night of the great gun competition between the starboard and larboard watch, since the night he had apologized for his earlier callous indifference, she had come to understand his behaviour better. He had been very attentive towards her since that night but, when another man or boy, officer or foremast jack, made any attempt to gain her attention or curry her favor, he would wear that same expression of vexation. And whenever she saw it, she wanted to kiss his brow until she brought a smile back to his face. _Not that you’ll be able to do that_ , she thought with an inward sigh.

The _Francine_ fired a salute as the boat neared the shore and it had been returned by the harbor’s defenses. Mr. Snow had commented that they were firing popguns on shore which would not be much protection from any sort of larger force coming from the sea.

“No wonder they are interested in the guns more than gold for their cattle.”

“Yes, sir,” the doctor replied. “Let’s hope they are as interested in them as we are in their beef.”

The store ship let go her anchor and was settling down to await the outcome of these negotiations as well. The harbor was filled with trading vessels and smaller craft as Alda Mehran was an important Tunisian port. But when the wind was not in their favor, it would be difficult to wear out of it which was why Captain Mormont felt safer keeping the large frigate out past the mouth of the bay.

Sansa glanced over towards the _Francine_ while Mr. Snow and the doctor talked. She could see Captain Baratheon on the small quarterdeck glaring at the harbor as they approached. She had met him the day before as they had rendezvoused with the store ship shortly before sighting land and Captain Mormont had invited him aboard for dinner. Dr. Seaworth had mentioned that he had been overlooked time and time again for promotion and was the bitterest commander in the fleet…at least in his opinion. Sourgrapes Baratheon was his nickname though no one dared say it in his presence. He had been taken aback by Sansa’s presence at first and he had made a gruff comment to Sir Jeor to ask if he had decided to ‘ship a miss’ to which the captain had taken extreme umbrage. Sansa had later learned from a furiously blushing Sam what that saying had meant. When Sansa’s purpose aboard had been explained to Sourgrapes, he had stared blankly at her for several uncomfortable moments before he gave a civil smile that seemed to cause him physical pain and bowed his head to her. _You’ve encountered worse, Sansa_ , she reminded herself.

 

The launch kissed the sandy beach and a dozen seamen jumped out the pull it further up the shore. Dr. Seaworth made his way towards the bow carefully and Sansa waited for Mr. Snow to offer his arm. He helped her across the boat before lifting her by the waist and setting her upon the dry sand a few feet away. His hands were warm through the material of her dress and they were firm as he gently pulled her towards him to lift her. She placed her hands on his shoulders to steady herself as he carried her. She was so close to him in those few seconds that she saw a very, small scar through his right eyebrow that continued to his right cheek below his eye that she had never before noticed. And she was aware of the musky, masculine scent of him. He was sweating and wearing a coat that had seen much use but there was something appealing in his scent all the same. He smelled of salt and sweat, wood and rope. His lips were slightly chapped and Sansa wondered if they would taste like sea salt from the spray. Her own lips tasted of salt more often than not lately. Then, the moment passed. He had set her down after begging her pardon, for what exactly she wasn’t sure, and Sansa was ashore in a foreign land.

Dr. Seaworth offered her his arm and they followed Mr. Snow and a smaller party of seamen and marines up the beach to the city gates of Alda Mehran. Many of the men had been left under Mr. Tarly to guard the boats and wait for word of this first contact. As, they approached the town, Sansa’s stomach was twisted with nerves.

_This is why they brought me all this way. What if they will not speak with me? What if my Arabic is not good enough? What will Mr. Snow think of me if I fail them all?_

Dr. Seaworth had said that Drogo Bey was the ruler of the area put in place by the Turks who controlled most of Northern Africa.  He was said to be an irascible man who was very prideful.

 _‘He’s not an easy man to deal with. His predecessor, who we were originally in contact with, was an honest and intelligent ruler. He saw the benefit of trade with us and we were very appreciative of his friendliness and willingness to have us a trade partners. The new bey however…’_ Dr. Seaworth had trailed off uncertainly.

But Dr. Seaworth had also told her that the bey was rather devoted to the opposite sex having three wives and a harem and that her pretty face might very well aid their negotiations. Sansa had chaffed at the doctor’s not doubt kindly meant words and doubted them as well. _A man with three wives and a harem is not likely to be swayed by_ _another pretty face and I am more than just that. I wonder if Mr. Snow thinks I’m pretty?_ Sansa rather thought that he did but it would be nice to be told so by him.

Once they were away from the beach, the dust-filled streets were a mass of people of all different races and ethnicities. There was a large market or bizarre where all manner of trade was being conducted. The buildings were all one level and brownish white from the dust. The palace gates however were painted red and they were open. Sansa could see just a glimpse of the large palace where the bey lived. At the gates, they were met by a small party of Arabs. The leader of the party was a Turk and wearing a light blue turban. The rest appeared to be a mix of Arabs and Africans.

“As Salam Alaykom,” the Turk said, looking between Mr. Snow and Dr. Seaworth with a friendly smile.

“Wa Alykom As-slam,” Sansa said in response to his greeting and saw the man’s eyes widened with surprise. _Please don’t be offended_ , she thought as she gave him a sweet yet reticent smile.

“You speak Arabic?” he asked in that language.

“Na’am, Sayyd.” _Yes, sir_.

The man smiled then and bowed. Sansa curtsied and Mr. Snow and Dr. Seaworth both bowed.

“You come with the English?” he asked next and Sansa replied that she did come with them and that she was English as well and that, as their official translator had died suddenly, she had been asked to come as they were quite desperate to not offend the good bey by keeping him waiting any longer to seek another, more qualified translator.

“I am only a woman but I know your language fairly well. I hope your ruler will not be offended,” she said as she finished.

“No, miss, I doubt that he would be,” he replied as he continued, “I am Mahir Mamud, vizier to Drogo Bey and Ahmed Bey before him. Please tell your companions to follow me to the palace where you will find refreshments. Our Most-Gracious Bey has arranged for rooms for your party as well. He is away hunting today but will return on the morrow and will be happy to meet with you then.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Of course, Fatatan Jamilia.”

Dr. Seaworth smiled as Sansa related the conversation to him and Mr. Snow while they and their party followed the group led by Mahir Mamud.

“Mamud is an intelligent and trustworthy man from all I’ve heard of him,” the doctor said. “I am glad he is still here. A change in leadership often means everyone is changed out. It’s too bad the bey is away today but things never go exactly as planned I suppose. What was the last part he said to you…Fatatan Jamilia?”

“It means beautiful girl,” she said trying not to look at Mr. Snow and hoping the doctor would make no further comment on the matter.

“Ah,” Dr. Seaworth with a grin, “well, perhaps we’ve won one man over to our cause already. Don’t you think, Mr. Snow?”

“Yes, Doctor,” he answered tersely with that same vexed expression and knitted brow he’d worn earlier when Sam was calling out to her.

“Smile, Mr. Snow,” Sansa said quietly at his side as they walked. “We would not wish to offend our hosts by looking so cross.”

He managed a small smile at that but when they reached the palace steps, he was temporarily distracted by the grandness of the structure. It was enormous, white stone and covered in colorful tile in places with a large dome at the center.

“I’ve never been to Africa before. I’ve only been in the Med once before when I was 15 and we never went anywhere but Port Mahon and Gibraltar then. I didn’t even go ashore at Port Mahon. I never imagined such a strange and amazing place could exist outside of stories,” he said, sounding younger than his years while his eyes were filled with wonder.

“I’ve been to Algeciras but this is quite impressive. Perhaps if the bey is away today, we might see the market…with Dr. Seaworth, of course.”

“I should like that, Miss Stark…if Dr. Seaworth will permit me to accompany you there.”

He offered her his arm as they climbed the steps and gave her a contented smile when she took it.

 

* * *

 

She was given a very grand room of her own in the palace and there were serving girls to help her wash the sweat and dust from her skin. Sansa combed her sweaty hair out and re-plaited her braid before changing into her lilac gown. It was not ideal for her trip to the market but her brown dress was quite hot and the lilac was the lightest thing she had brought. There was a knock at the door and she answered and saw with pleasure that it was Mr. Snow.

“Oh, I’m so glad it’s you,” she said with a smile. “I just need to fetch my hat. They’ve all been very kind but it’s so nice to see a familiar face her in this new place.” Mr. Snow was silent as Sansa felt his eyes slowly traveling from her feet to her face. She gave an involuntary shiver. “Mr. Snow?”

“Yes…I’m sorry, San…Miss Stark. I was woolgathering there for a moment. Dr. Seaworth permitted me to come and escort you to the palace entrance. May I?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“I, um…I hope you will allow me to say that is a…a very lovely dress, Miss Stark. The color is…very becoming…on you.”

Sansa enjoyed the way he seemed so sweetly flustered when he tried to compliment her. He did not have the easy air that flirts, flatterers and coxcombs possessed and it made his compliments more sincere, even if he tripped over his tongue trying to get them out.

“Thank you, Mr. Snow,” she said. He started to offer his arm again but then looked uncertain. She took it before he could retract it though.

“Wait. Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asked as they started to leave the room. Sansa stared at him rather vacantly. She had been relishing the warm firmness of his arm beneath her hand and watching his lips move as he formed his words. Nothing was making much sense at the moment. She looked to his eyes and he slowly raised his free hand to touch her braid near her shoulder. “Your hat,” he said as his fingers softly closed on her braid. His voice was husky and Sansa felt that pooling warmth growing in her belly as he spoke before she remembered herself.

“Oh! Of course,” she stammered as she blushed and rushed to fetch it.

Once she had adjusted it, they walked out together, side by side but he no longer was offering his arm. _Oh well…_

 

The market was large, noisy and fascinating. Sansa walked with Dr. Seaworth as Mr. Snow followed behind them. She helped the doctor bargain for a pin and some cloth for his wife and then chose small trinkets for Arya and the boys. She asked Mr. Snow if he wished to make any purchases and he declined saying that his Uncle Brandon wouldn’t know what to make of him bringing him a gift and would likely only accuse him of wasting his money and there was no one else for which him to buy anything.

“Flowers for you, lovely girl. Flowers for your daughter, sir. Or for your sweetheart, young man,” a woman called out in Arabic from a stand to the three of them.

“No, thank you,” Sansa blushed as she responded to the woman.

“What was she asking?” Mr. Snow asked.

“Only if we wanted flowers,” she answered with a smile.

They continued through the market and watched a street performer balancing hoops. Captain Baratheon was at the market making his own purchases but only gave them a brief word or two before heading off into the crowd. Sansa looked around and noticed Mr. Snow was missing soon after.

“Where is Mr. Snow?” Sansa asked.

“Said he wanted to make a purchase,” the doctor replied.

“Oh?” _He did not wish for my assistance, I suppose. Perhaps he thought to buy something that he’d rather not me see. You don’t know, Sansa…he may have a sweetheart at_ _home_.

However, he soon returned with something that wouldn’t possibly keep till England, a small bouquet of flowers. Dr. Seaworth cleared his throat and gave him a stern look which nearly caused him to drop the flowers as he handed them to Sansa.

“I thought perhaps Miss Stark might like something to brighten her room here,” he said with an anxious look at the doctor and a sweet though embarrassed smile for her.

“Oh, yes…the palace rooms are so dull, Mr. Snow,” the doctor replied dryly. “No doubt they needed some adorning.”

Sansa only smiled and sniffed the flowers before thanking him for his thoughtfulness. As they headed off towards the palace, Mr. Snow was carrying her purchases and she fell back to walk beside him, forcing the doctor to do so as well.

“My sister and brothers would’ve enjoyed seeing all of this,” she said.

“Arya mentioned that she would like to see Africa,” he answered with a grin. “She said she’d like to be a sailor, too.”

“Yes, she longs for adventure but perhaps I do as well in a way. I’m enjoying this very much.”

“I am as well, Miss Stark,” he said as they reached the palace steps once more.

 

* * *

 

Drogo Bey was a large, muscular and very tall man. He had fierce black eyes that had a hawkish, predatory look to them. His long black hair was braided down his back under his turban that was black with a ruby the size of a lemon in the center of it. His beard and moustache hung down to his chest and had gold trinkets braided through it. Jon could well imagine how he got his reputation as being a formidable and frightening ruler even as the bey sat in his chair with his long, white robes around him. He had been a fierce warrior before he had been named ruler in these parts. It was rumored that he achieved his present position by staging a coup to overthrow his predecessor and, when he succeeded, he had the man cut up for bait…while he was still alive. This was the man in charge now though and just as Jon did not care for Sourgrapes Baratheon, he didn’t have to care for Drogo Bey to conduct business with him. And at least his vizier was welcoming and levelheaded unlike Stannis’s first mate who seemed to follow his commander’s ill-tempered lead.

The bey had spoken few words but his Arabic sounded harsh and guttural to Jon’s ear compared to the melody of Sansa’s voice as that language flowed off her tongue. And while he had not said a great deal, his intelligent eyes were busy taking in the details of their party. He had given Jon a close look before clearly dismissing him as nothing more than a figurehead who had no true baring on the outcome of these negotiations…an embarrassing though not completely inaccurate assessment. He had surveyed the seamen and marines that made up their party and rightly concluded that they were merely there for appearances and perhaps protection. Drogo gave Davos a shrewd appraisal and, once again, correctly surmised that this was the man who would be making the final decision in things.

All of this Jon realized as he stood there next to Sansa but when Drogo’s eyes had returned to Sansa yet again, Jon decided that he did not like the bey…not one bit. He wore a bemused smirk every time she spoke, not in a mocking way but more in a suggestive manner, as though he was thinking salacious thoughts while he watched her. Mamud was speaking in his ear quite often and it was clear the two men did not always agree. _It’s hard enough being under a difficult superior_ , Jon reflected thinking of Mr. Thorne. _I can_ _only imagine the tightrope Mamud must walk to keep his ruler in countenance and aid him to make good decisions_.

As Davos stepped in to the discussion, Jon’s mind wandered to going to her guest room earlier, seeing her for the first time in her creamy, lilac confection of a dress that clung so perfectly to her lovely figure, despite the modest neckline that was well above her cleavage. He had been staring like a fool at her yet again. And, when he had had the nerve to touch her hair, he had started getting hard just standing there, lightly caressing the silky texture of it. He wondered what it would look like with his fingers carding through it as she straddled his hips and…Jon shook himself from his own salacious thoughts and remembered the way Sansa had looked at his lips while he spoke, the way she had seemed to shiver when he was looking at her. That look had prompted him to purchase the flowers in the market which Davos had chided him for later, reminding him that he was Miss Stark’s chaperone ashore and that Jon was not here to court the young lady. Still, he could not help but hope with all his might that she might nurse a tendre towards him even if it was but a tenth of what he felt. _You must stop. You are just a bastard, Snow. You are not worthy of such a fine lady._

His wandering thoughts were brought back to the present by a general stirring in the audience room. Sansa was looking flustered and Davos was no longer wearing his customary, unflappable mask. His eyes had turned hard and his lips were pressed together. Mamud was wearing the same expression.

“What is it?” he whispered in Sansa’s ear.

“Nothing, Mr. Snow. It’s just the bey has made a comment about my hair color. He said he liked redhaired women…that they are spirited in…in certain ways. Calm down, Mr. Snow. Rulers say as they please, I imagine.”

Drogo spoke again and this time Sansa’s face turned the same shade as her hair. Most of the other men in the room looked concerned and displeased. Mamud looked furious and began speaking to him in a less than courteous tone. The bey laughed and spoke again causing Mamud to grow red with anger. There were two men that stood by the bey though that laughed at whatever he had said while they gestured towards Sansa.

“I will not allow him to disrespect you,” Jon said angrily as his hand gripped the pommel of his sword.

“Stop that at once, you foolish boy,” Davos hissed from the other side of Sansa. “He is talking. Talking is not worth such a display. Slaughtering our hosts, getting yourself killed here and plunging England into war with the Ottoman Empire will do Miss Stark no good. If she can stomach the man’s words with no more than a blush, you can most certainly stand there quietly since you obviously have no idea what they are saying…sir.”

“Dr. Seaworth, I would remind you…” Jon began.

“Please, stop. Both of you,” Sansa said with her hand raised.

Her blue eyes seemed to blaze like the hottest part of a flame when she glanced his way. She turned and took a step forward before she began addressing the bey once more. Her words were many and her tone was sharp. Many of the Arabic men looked interested, concerned or annoyed by turns once she was done. Mahir Mamud however was smiling throughout and spoke to the bey for a moment before letting Sansa continue. When she finished speaking, the bey laughed and nodded to her in what could only be interpreted as a token of respect. Mamud said a few more words and Sansa curtsied and encouraged Jon and Davos to bow.

“We are done for now,” she said as she turned towards the door. “Would one of you please escort me back to my room?” Jon offered her his arm at once.

“What was all that?” Jon asked as soon as they were out of the audience chamber.

“First, he asked if I had red hair…everywhere.”

“That dirty, disgusting…”

“Mr. Snow…Enough! I am fine. I’ve heard impolite comments before…from girls at school no less. And, Dr. Seaworth is right. You are here to negotiate a trade and he is the ruler. The others have been polite. The vizier is certainly as fine a gentleman as I have ever met. But, a man like the bey who is more a warrior than a diplomat…well, his fearsome reputation is well earned.” She paused in mid-stride before continuing with her words, “He said he should like to add a…a girl ‘kissed by fire’ to his harem.” Jon could not even speak now he was so angry. He was almost growling. Sansa looked in his eyes and let go of his arm and continued, “So, I decided to remind him why we are here and that I was acting in cooperation with His Majesty’s government to obtain supplies for His fleet. I reminded him that we had brought guns and gold to trade for their cattle. I also said that England was at war and had little time to listen to his bawdy remarks. I then further stated that His Majesty’s Navy was the most powerful navy in all the world and that perhaps if he would rather issue insults instead of trade with us, His Majesty’s ships might very well decide to sail into his harbor and reduce this port to rubble and _take_ whatever it needed.”

“You said what?! Oh my…woman, have you lost your mind?!” Davos started sputtering.

But Jon could only smile warmly at Sansa once he had heard what all she had said to the bey. He suddenly thought he’d like to learn Arabic and go back to that moment just so that he could’ve understood her as she said the words to the man.

“Kissed by fire indeed,” he said with a chuckle.

Then, he laughed more fully and she laughed with him. And, as they stood there laughing together like fools, Jon wished with all his heart that he could kiss her right then and there…in front of Davos, in the middle of the bey’s palace, in front of His Majesty’s entire bloody fleet even.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is a lady but I wanted her fire to come out a bit more so I hope you enjoyed the exchange between her and Drogo. I have portrayed Stannis and Drogo based on their characters in the books. Stannis is cold and bitter, feeling unappreciated by Robert in the books and by the Service in this fic. He also has little patience or understanding of women.
> 
> Drogo is portrayed to represent that character with no Dany in his life as he was initially not an ideal husband for her being a brutal man with limited uses for women. This is a representation of a character and is not meant as a reflection on Turkish or Muslim men so please don't take it that way.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Seaworth chastises Mr. Snow's behavior at the feast celebrating the successful trade agreement. Jon fears Miss Stark was upset by the entertainment at the feast and seeks her out. Sansa realizes the depth of her feelings for Mr. Snow.

“It still doesn’t excuse your behaviour! You abruptly left the feast without offering any excuses while glaring at our host no less! How are we to conclude our business and have a successful trade alliance with the Turks if you will not remember the basic rules of courtesy?” Davos shouted.

“And what of _his_ idea of courtesy? And, don’t tell me again how he’s a bloody ruler and is exempt from…from what he did,” Jon argued heatedly, refusing to feel bad over walking out on the feast.

“I understand what you are saying and you are right in that,” Davos responded in a calmer tone. “I saw one of the bey’s men speaking to that girl. I’m certain she was sent specifically to you for that purpose but, be that as it may, it still doesn’t mean…”

“He purposely made Sansa uncomfortable, made me uncomfortable. He wanted to cause a rift between us.”

“There is no ‘us’, Jon...not between you and Miss Stark and you would do well to remember it. You have been letting your feelings for the girl get in the way of your sense. Mormont expects me to act as her chaperone here but you are always by her side it seems. And it was inappropriate for you to be alone with her…”

“I have done nothing to dishonor Miss Stark in any way,” he grumbled.

“I’m not suggesting you have but appearances are everything when it comes to young ladies. Be grateful we are not in England. Her reputation would’ve been quite blown upon already before you led her to the courtyard.”

“I didn’t _lead_ her to the courtyard! I found her there! She was upset. What was I supposed to do? Ignore that?”

“I am only suggesting you remember why we are here, Mr. Snow.”

“I know why we are here, Doctor!” he snapped. “I understand my duty perfectly well.”

“Good. Then perhaps you could stop staring at the girl like a love-struck mooncalf every time she walks in the room and stop glaring at the bey all the time. If you wish to court Miss Stark once we return…”

“Pray forgive me, sir. I believe I need some air,” Jon said sharply, his cheeks burning from the older man’s admonishment.

He couldn’t exactly argue with him though. Davos was right but at the moment Jon just wanted away from him and his piercing gaze that saw so much… _too much_. He fled their room. _Am I to be forever running away? Why am I so unmanned by her and everything to do with her?_ _Why do I have to be in love with a girl I can't have?_ He wished to seek her out but he feared he would not be welcomed by Sansa at present. _No doubt Davos would remind me how inappropriate it would be for me to go to her anyway_. Jon was afraid to seek Sansa out after the previous night. He reminded himself that he had done nothing wrong really but he still felt guilty and feared he would not be able to make things right. _Why am I constantly making a hash of things with her?_ he wondered with a frustrated sigh. He decided to go down to the beach to check on Sam and the other men. _To see to my_ _duty_ , he thought with a touch of bitterness.

 

* * *

 

 

They had successfully concluded their trade negotiations yesterday. Sam was bringing the gold ashore with a dozen men and marines in the blue cutter. Captain Baratheon had warped the _Francine_ in close and had the guns ready to transfer and would await the cattle that were to be herded down to shore so the tedious task of loading the beasts could begin. It would likely take a majority of the day.

The previous night, after an agreement was reached in the trade negotiations, the vizier had arranged a feast for their British partners in trade. Prickly, old Sourgrapes had come ashore for the feast with his equally taciturn mate. As the senior naval officer present, the commander, called a captain by courtesy, had been seated closer to the bey than Jon which suited Jon very well. Drogo Bey had suggested that Sansa should sit by his side to translate for him but Mamud had gratefully chosen to feign deafness at an opportune moment and had her placed between Jon and Davos. They had been served spiced lamb and roasted camel. The lamb was quite good but the camel seemed to float in its own grease on Jon’s plate. Jon wiped his greasy fingers on his napkin and watched Sansa pick at her lamb and couscous. She had seemed downcast and out of sorts all evening and Jon wanted to bring a smile back to her face.

“You should be pleased, Miss Stark. You’re beautiful…I mean, you did beautifully…with the…” he closed his eyes and trailed off as the bones were cleared away and the sweets were brought out. _Good God_ …He soon rallied and started again though. “These negotiations would not have succeeded without your help. I’m sure your father will be very proud of you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Snow. I’m not certain everyone here would agree with you but at least the bargain was struck.”

“Who? Stannis? He’s a miserable, disappointed man. Don’t let his gruff manner put you off your victory.”

“Dr. Seaworth was cross with me as well.”

“No, Davos admires you. He may have been cross at first when you threatened to have us ‘reduce his port to rubble’ but he has nothing but praise for you now,” he said and started chuckling again at the memory. Sansa smiled at that. _All I want is to make you smile, sweet girl_.

Jon glanced at the head of the table and noticed the bey watching them as they spoke quietly together. Jon nodded to the bey politely before offering Sansa one of the small lemon cakes from the sweets tray. She took a nibble and let out a soft moan. She soon devoured the rest of it and licked her fingers clean. He felt his cock stir at the sight of her tongue swiping her fingers and knew in a moment of wickedness that he would be remembering her moan later when he was alone without a doubt.

“Have another,” he said innocently as he passed her another one while attempting not to smile. She was soon looking forlorn again though and he asked with concern, “Are you alright, Miss Stark? Not ill I hope. Perhaps you’re a bit homesick?”

She looked up from her plate and nodded. Jon was aghast to see tears forming in her eyes. He had not meant to make her cry. _You bloody idiot_ , he cursed to himself. Jon started to lean forward to say something…anything to make up for it when the bey clapped his hands and said something in Baratheon’s ear.

“Snow, what the devil is he on about? Damned Turk…he acts as if I understand a single word he has to say.”

“I will ask him to repeat it and translate for you, Commander,” Sansa said from the other side of Jon.

He gave Sansa a hard look and Jon saw her physically withdrawing from the coldness of his eyes. Jon couldn’t quite decide if Stannis was more offended that she had dared speak to him without leave or if he doubted her ability to string complete sentences together. _Arrogant ass. We wouldn’t be leaving here with the cattle if it weren’t for her_ , Jon thought with anger at the man’s hostile and condescending expression.

“Very well, miss,” he finally said with a tight-lipped smile.

Sansa spoke to the bey and he smiled at her with that libidinous expression of his that Jon absolutely detested. Sansa reddened and said there was to be an entertainment.

Sure enough, dancing girls soon came into the room. They wore veils but their clothing was immodest compared to the other women they had seen here. The sailors and marines present soon began to hoot and call out to the girls. Mamud stepped forwards and spoke to Sansa.

“What’d he say?”

“Only that he hoped I was not offended by the bey’s entertainment. He said it was a traditional dance and begged my pardon. I told him I did not mind dancing girls,” she replied with a feigned smile.

The girls moved with a rhythm all their own that little resembled the measured precision of the dances Jon knew from the few balls and assemblies he had attended as a boy in his uncle’s care. He was no eunuch and, while he could certainly appreciate their flowing, sensual movements, he was annoyed on Sansa’s behalf. The bey was watching her closely and Jon wondered if this ‘entertainment’ was meant to make her uncomfortable.

He was about to ask if she wished to retire as, at this point in the evening, there wasn’t much translation required. Her spirits were oppressed this evening and their negotiation had been tedious. Plus, many of his men were getting rather drunk and less inhibited from drink and the dancers. But as he leaned forward to speak, someone was behind him tugging at the ribbon that held his hair in place. He turned and found a lithe, young woman with large, black eyes behind him. She was not one of the dancers he had seen earlier and she was more scantily clad by far. She straddled his lap without so much as a ‘by your leave’ and put her hands on his face and started running them through his hair in a very wanton manner. She squirmed across him and Jon could not help but blush at the intimacy of her pressed against his cock. He tried pulling her hands away and asking her to please get up but she determinedly stayed put. He was finally forced to stand in order to get her off of him. She laughed at his discomposure but then stood, waving his hair tie in his face before she danced her way back across the room.

When Jon glanced over to his left, Sansa was gone. He turned back to the bey and found him smirking at him. Jon’s jaw clamped shut with irritation and he scowled at his host before he hurriedly left the feast in search of Sansa. It took a while to find her and he probably would’ve continued to search had he not run into Old Selmy who was returning from a call of nature.

“Miss is upset, sir,” Selmy said as he knuckled his forehead to Jon.

“Where’d she go, Selmy? I’m afraid she was offended at the feast.”

“Out towards the courtyard with all the fountains, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Jon headed to the walled courtyard Selmy had spoken of, brushing his loose hair back out of his face as best he could. It was quiet in the courtyard and the moonlight was the only lighting. He treaded along the paths in search of her. There were six elegant fountains located in different areas and it was filled with flowering bushes. There were cages with various birds located throughout the enclosed space as well. Most were bedded down for the night but occasionally one would chirp at him as he passed. There were two benches near the center facing one another and the ground was covered in flagstones. She sat on one of the benches looking down. He crept up quietly, not wishing to disturb her if she wanted to be left alone but, when he heard her crying, he knew he would do anything to make her stop.

“Miss Stark?” he asked gently.

She looked over at him with her puffy eyes and at first she seemed pleased to see him. But then her eyes narrowed and she turned her face away from him.

“Why aren’t you inside enjoying the bey’s ‘entertainment’?” she asked with a sniff.

“That’s not really my favored type of entertainment. I’m sorry if you were offended.”

“You didn’t seem to mind it.”

“You mistake me, Miss Stark. I did not ask for any attention from that girl. I did what I could to get her to stop short of flinging her to the ground…which I nearly did in the end.” He was granted a slight smile at that.

“I’m sorry…I’m shouldn’t assume…. I didn’t…I didn’t like seeing her with you…like that.”

 _Oh..._ “Do you mean you didn’t like her sitting…”

“You know what I mean,” she huffed with annoyance.

Jon could not help the smile that formed on his lips. _She’s jealous…there’s no need to be jealous, sweet girl_. “May I please sit with you?” he asked.

Sansa nodded curtly and he sat down. He would not push. She was still a bit cross but he had learned by now that it was best he keep quiet and wait. _I’d probably only say_ _something appallingly idiotic if I spoke anyway_. He suspected he would not have to wait too long. And at last, his patience was rewarded by a flood of words.

“I am longing for home…I miss my father and my brothers and sister. I miss my little sitting room and the school room we use for lessons and my bed. I miss Arya, Bran and Rickon even if they act like barbarians. I miss Papa’s smiles and arguing with Gabriel…we are so different and yet so alike. I miss seeing Robb at the fort. I miss Old Nan and…” She drew breath for a moment but Jon stayed silent, knowing she had not finished. “Aboard ship, it was exciting. The sailors are kind and the sea always seemed to hold something new to keep my mind off of home but here…I just feel so isolated…except for your company. I wish I could convey how much your friendship has meant to me here.”

“As much as yours has meant to me, I’d say. I’m very sorry for your sorrow. It’s hard to be away from your loved ones and home for the first time. I joined the service at 15 and I wept many nights into my pillow the first couple of months. My uncle is not an affectionate man but I longed for hearth and home all the same. Even at sea where there is always something going on it seems, one cannot help but yearn for home, I think. And you have a happy home to yearn for, Miss Stark. There is nothing wrong in missing it. We should leave here tomorrow or the day after and then you’ll be back in a week to ten days if the winds are kind.”

“Yes, and that’s the worst of it, Mr. Snow. Back in ten days perhaps you say but, back to what though? Having had this experience, I don’t know how easily I’ll return to the quiet… _sameness_ of home.”

“Your sister and younger brothers don’t strike me as the type of children to allow for too much quiet,” he quipped hoping to make her smile. It worked… _almost_.

“You are right about that. But, I meant more that perhaps now I wish there was something I could do with my time beyond educating my brothers and Arya…something that’s significant beyond the four walls of my home. You wouldn’t understand…you are expected to find a purpose as a man and not spend your time being idle. You’ve already found your purpose.”

“I can understand what you are saying, I think. You speak of feeling idle…you feel trapped in the role our society expects you to fulfill. But you hardly strike me as the type of young lady that is often idle. I suppose the pursuits open to you are quite limited though.”

“Yes, very much so. And when I think that my _whole_ purpose…the whole _aim_ of my life is to find a suitable husband and make a good marriage…”

“You’re only 16. Surely there’s time for that,” Jon said, hating the thoughts of her married off to any other man at all.

“Yes. Papa would prefer I not marry too young and would insist my future husband be able to provide for me. But everyone acts as though you’ve failed as a woman if you’re not…You think me unnatural no doubt.”

“Not at all. We all like to have a purpose, I believe. You are so intelligent and have so many gifts to offer, Miss Stark. And, you don’t want to feel that your worth is weighed solely on the match you make, I’d wager.”

“Exactly!” she said with passion then. “Not that I am opposed to marriage or children…someday, with the right man,” she said as her eyes met his. Jon’s heart skipped a beat before she continued, “I love my siblings and I don’t mind devoting my time to them. I love my Papa and am happy to keep his house. But does that have to be all? I don’t know…perhaps I long for too much…”

Jon took her hands in his own before saying, “I don’t believe that. I think you’ll find what you’re looking for if you’re on the watch for it. Surely, there’s a balance between home and family and finding a place for yourself in the world, something that fulfills you. You’re too extraordinary a person to just be…”

He trailed off as she was watching him closely now and her breath gave a slight hitch. She licked her lips and looked from his eyes to his lips and back again. Jon’s heart was hammering in his chest now and he dearly wanted to taste her lips.

“I’ve never met a gentleman like you, Mr. Snow. You seem to understand me, better than my twin even. I wonder at it,” she said.

He looked down on her hands, squeezing them gently as he responded, “I’ve never met a young lady like you, Miss Stark. Not that I’ve met all that many.  I would…would it be too forward of me to ask…would you call me Jon?” he asked, as his logical mind began shouting at him. _What are you doing? It’s not proper to ask her that. It’s not proper to sit_ _here holding her hands in the dark. And it’s certainly not proper for you to be alone with her like this…You mustn’t let this go any further_ …

“Jon…” she started to say as she leaned towards him slowly, so slowly yet so surely. He tried desperately to ignore logic and just let the moment be. As he moved closer to her though with mere inches between his lips and her own, a caged bird gave a loud cry and he panicked. He leapt to his feet and glanced around the courtyard.

“Shall I escort you to your room now?” he asked while his heart was still trying to beat its way out of his chest.

Sansa looked up in surprise. There was anger and shame in her eyes at his refusal to do what she so obviously had wanted him to do a moment ago…what he had so adamantly wanted to do a moment ago. She looked back down before standing. Embarrassment and irritation were clearly at war on her face but she took his offered arm and nodded. _You’re such a goddamn coward…why on Earth didn’t you just kiss her? You are hopeless, Jon._

He was only slightly mollified in his decision to bolt by the sight of Davos seeking them on the moonlit paths as they made their way back into the palace.

 

* * *

 

 

Twelve hours later, Jon was still cursing himself as he headed down to the beach. Sam greeted him with a friendly smile and told him that all was well aboard but that Trant was in the sickbay after a fall. He then whispered that Grenn had given him a shove down one of the hatchways in the dark of night for mistreating the younger boys in the berth. _The_ _cockpit is still a realm apart then_. It did not surprise Jon. The captain might be the fount of justice aboard but the men had their own ways of dealing out discipline when necessary. The lower deck had its own form of rough justice and the cockpit did as well. He smiled at this and Sam said that Mr. Clegane had come ashore with him to deal with some problems with the _Francine_ as her bosun had died and all of Captain Baratheon’s bosun’s mates had managed to desert.

“He has a problem with desertion I overheard the captain telling Mr. Thorne,” Sam added.

“That does not surprise me. He’s a hard man and proud. The men respect a taunt captain but they grow resentful of a tyrant. It doesn’t seem to be a very happy ship from what little dealings I’ve had with the Francines ashore.”

Jon then told Sam the plans for the exchange of guns, gold and cattle and asked about their orders for rejoining the ship the next day.

“Captain thinks foul weather is headed our way, Jon. He may move farther off shore tonight. If it cuts up rough, he may not want to send the launch in after you. Says you’ll have to make arrangements with Captain Baratheon if so. A blue rocket will be the signal if that’s necessary.”

“Very well, Sam. I hope the captain is mistaken. I don’t think I’d relish sailing with Stannis very much, even for just the length of the harbor. Give the captain my compliments and duty and tell him we should rejoin tomorrow by midday one way or another.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa knew she should be grateful to Mr. Snow for his prudence and respectful behavior. In a moment of weakness and desire, she had let her passions get the best of her and she had tried to kiss him. She had tried to get him to kiss her. She had wanted to kiss him desperately and felt that he had wanted to kiss her as well. But his honor had saved them both from that mistake. They were not engaged. There was no understanding in place between them. She was an unmarried girl alone and surrounded by sailors in a foreign port. Her reputation might already suffer heavy damage from that alone. And if she allowed herself a romantic dalliance now, she would be irrevocably spoiled in the eyes of society. Her morals, her chastity and her common sense would be questioned for the rest of her days. It wasn’t fair. Men could go with a woman, even in the most carnal sense of the word, and their reputations need not suffer. But a young lady such as herself would be labeled a flirt, a pariah, a harlot or even a whore for just kissing a man to whom she were not married…or at least engaged. It wasn’t fair but there was the truth of it.

Sansa had been vexed with him at first for refusing her but she believed that he did care for her and did not wish to bring her dishonor. She had laid in her bed that night trying not to be cross with him at first. Then, she had laid there wishing she had been one of the dancing girls…that she had been _the_ dancing girl that sat upon Mr. Snow’s lap in such a wanton manner. She wondered what that girl had felt, being so close to him, touching him in such an intimate manner even though he was fully clothed. Sansa imagined what it would have felt like…what he might feel like pressed up against her in such a way. Sansa’s hand slid down between her legs then as she lay abed thinking of Mr. Snow… _Jon_.

He had asked her to call him Jon before he had gotten spooked and jumped up from the bench. It was not really proper. She certainly would not do so when others were about but, as she touched herself and thought of him, she called him Jon in her mind once more and she knew she would call him Jon if they were alone again.

 _Would Papa ever consent to a match? Would Jon ever screw up his courage enough to make an offer? Naturally, you’d fall in love with a completely honorable man, Sansa. And you’re wicked to chaff at the frustrating consequences of his honor_.

Those were the thoughts that plagued Sansa before she found her relief with a quiet moan. And then feeling somewhat sated or exhausted at least, she fell asleep.

 

The next morning, Dr. Seaworth came to check on her. He held her arms out to the side and gave her a shrewd and appraising look. He told her to stick out her tongue at him and clucked at her pulse. Sansa tried not to roll her eyes at him. _He is only acting like a doctor would_.

“I don’t detect any malady but you don’t look well, child. Did you not sleep?”

 _I’m in love…poets have said it is a sort of illness_. “I am tired this morning perhaps, Doctor. It has been a long few days here and a longer journey.”

“Of course. I hope that last night…the feast…”

“I am perfectly fine,” she said crisply not wishing for him to prod further.

“Oh…good. Perhaps you might wish to take your ease today while the cattle are loaded and the guns and gold are handed over.”

“No, sir. You are very kind but I believe I shall be present just in case there is any need for translating.”

He bowed and departed leaving Sansa alone once more. _I wonder where he is_ , she thought. She knew he would not come to her, at least not any time soon after last night so she resolved to go and seek him out. She felt stronger this morning and more able to keep her passions in check.

 _You can go and see him without throwing yourself at him like some hussy, Sansa. If his friendship is all you’ll ever have, then so be it. Don’t hide in your room all day at least_.

Sansa pulled on her hat and nodded to herself in the mirror before heading out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the near-kiss! Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Don't worry, poor boy will work up the nerve to kiss her eventually...with her prompting naturally:-).


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A storm threatens as Jon and Sansa leave Alda Mehran and they are forced to sail with Captain Baratheon. Sansa is concerned for Jon while he faces new challenges as an officer.

Jon watched the blue rocket soar off the coast in the early morning light with misgivings he would not express to the young lady at his side. The _Francine_ was riding at single anchor, ready to leave at the turn of the tide. Miss Stark was wearing her serviceable brown dress again and her wide-brimmed hat. Mahir Mamud had come to pay his parting respects to them both a few minutes earlier and had brought two gifts for Sansa, one from Drogo Bey and one from himself. The bey’s gift was a great and gaudy bauble that a lady, an overly fussy and highly ornamented lady, might choose to wear in her hat. _It’s probably worth a small fortune_ , Jon reflected with a touch of envy. Sansa had told him after Mamud’s departure that she would gift it to the Silent Sisters’ Home for Children and the Church of the Brotherhood who helped the poor and downtrodden of Gibraltar once she returned home. But Mamud’s gift had pleased her and, as she esteemed the man, she had said she would gladly accept and keep his gift. It was a drawing of the courtyard fountains, drawn by Mamud’s own hand, and a perfectly polite letter from Mamud expressing his appreciation of Miss Stark’s efforts on behalf of their trade agreement and his hopes that she would take at least some pleasant memories from this place with his ‘unworthy’ token. She stood next to Jon smiling as she looked over the sketch once more and he would not share his worries at present and spoil her mood.

“So, we are to sail in the _Francine_ instead?” she asked at last as she folded up the sketch again.

“Yes.”

“It should take less than an hour to clear the bay with the tide though, yes?”

“That is true but, if the weather is turning foul outside the harbor, _Queenscrown_ may not be where we left her. If it wasn’t safe to send in the boats, it may not be safe for her to sit at anchor waiting for us.”

“Oh…so we could end up sailing with Captain Baratheon for a ways?”

He looked over at her and saw the curious concern in her eyes, concern that was all directed towards himself. He didn’t want her to worry though. “Perhaps. Come, Miss Stark. Let us get you settled aboard the ship.”

 

Yesterday, the men had worked hard. Their tasks, their extremely arduous and anxious tasks of unloading the guns and loading the store ship full of dozens of cattle, took all day. Sansa had stood on the shore for a while that morning watching them and Jon regretted that he’d been able to do no more than wave to her once or twice before she finally gave up and allowed Dr. Seaworth to escort her back to the palace. They had all worked hard and Jon, who had never seen any point in having men chased with a rope’s end or shouting at them to hurry when they were obviously moving as quickly as they reasonably could, had let them work. The Francines and the Queenscrowns from the frigate had worked fairly well together, at least Jon had thought so. It was back-breaking work but the men’s spirits seemed to bear it well enough…that is until Sourgrapes had returned from shore and started finding fault with the most inconsequential of matters.

Jon thought of the words Mr. Clegane had spoken in his ear while he pointed out the rotten stern post at one point that day.

“The post will do for a while yet, sir. That rot forward won’t hold nearly so long,” the large man said darkly as he glanced meaningfully at the crew of the _Francine_ and then back to Jon.

He had nodded to the bosun and watched the men carefully afterwards. Stannis was impossible to please. Mr. Thorne was a hard horse lieutenant who expected the very best from every man aboard, but Stannis…there was just no pleasing the man. He had been invited to sup aboard with the commander after the cattle were finally stowed and that meal had done nothing to alleviate Jon’s depressed spirits. The Francines were an oppressed and sullen crew. Too much tyranny mixed with their captain’s complete lack of any humanizing characteristics was to blame. One could argue that he was a good seaman and he was consistent in his discipline at least but he was a bloody tyrant and the lash was brought out far too often.

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa looked around the small cabin that made up the captain’s quarters as she moved her trunk from one place to another pointlessly for the twentieth time at least. _There’s_ _nothing else to do here_ , she thought with a sigh of frustration. She finally took a seat and waited for when she would finally be allowed on deck. She’d been aboard two days but had not been permitted out of the cabin while the storm raged. The weather was fine now but the captain had told her to stay below until he had someone fetch her and so here she sat.

It didn’t help having to listen to the sounds of punishment being carried out on deck. The thwack of the lash along with the grunts of the men being whipped was upsetting. Sansa had no idea what the men had done wrong but it seemed strange that anyone could’ve found time to be wicked when the ship was no doubt fighting to stay afloat the past 48 hours. One of the men being punished didn’t seem as concerned about stoically excepting his fate in near silence as the rest of his shipmates had and his cries and screams nearly undid Sansa’s already rattled nerves.

Just as Jon had hinted, the _Queenscrown_ was not where they had left her and they were sailing back to Gibraltar aboard the store ship. It was hoped that they might run across the frigate but it was just as likely that they would spend the rest of the voyage aboard the _Francine_. Sansa sat and reflected on the past two days while she wished for home.

Captain Baratheon had given over his quarters to her as soon as it was apparent that the _Queenscrown_ had sailed without them. For two hellish days and nights, the ship had battled the weather barely managing to stay off the African shore at one point. The _Francine_ was desperately undermanned Jon had said by desertion but the twenty _Queenscrown_ men and marines that were under him helped off-set that somewhat. Sansa had seen little to nothing of Jon or Dr. Seaworth during this time. Captain Mormont’s coxswain, Edd Tollett, had been the one bringing her meals and necessities. He was a kind man with an honest, friendly face but he seemed harried in his tasks and could not stay long enough in her presence to satisfy her curiosity or boredom. The ships fires could not be lit with the storm raging and Sansa had sat in near darkness, eating hard cheese and stale bread praying for an end to this nightmare.

Jon and Captain Baratheon were sharing the miniscule gunroom and mate’s quarters that the store ship had to offer while Dr. Seaworth bunked in the surgeon’s quarters since the _Francine’s_ surgeon had quarreled with the captain and left the ship three months ago and no replacement had been found yet. He had complained that he was quite overwhelmed treating the bruises and sprains that were common during a blow but just as busy treating bloody backs as well since some of these had festered with no proper medical care. She had offered to come and help the doctor but he shook his head saying it wouldn’t be proper for her to treat the seamen and that Sourgrapes probably wouldn’t allow it anyway.

Mr. Clegane had been stuck making repairs to the _Francine_ when Mr. Tarly took the launch back out to the frigate and so he had taken over the bosun’s duties and quarters. Their bosun had died. According to Tollett, Clegane complained bitterly about the cramped conditions aboard which given his size must have led to many a weary knock on the head when the man tried to walk about in the dark and tossing ship.

As for Jon, he had checked on her when he could but he was obviously busy trying to help with the ship. She missed his presence all the same though and realized how much she had taken for granted the time spent at his side in Alda Mehran now that he never seemed to get any relief from his duty. Not long after the punishment had ended, she was glad to hear a knock at the door. She smiled hoping that it was Jon come to fetch her but it was in fact Mr. Clegane.

“Come, little bird. Time to fly from your cage for a bit.”

Sansa smiled at his words. _I’d almost swear I’ve grown on him_. “Thank you, Mr. Clegane. You’ve all been terribly busy so you will think me quite selfish when I tell you how very dull it has been sitting below all this time with nothing to do.”

“I don’t doubt it’s been dull but I could use a bit more sleep at the moment,” the older man smiled. But then his face took on a solemn cast before he continued, “Things aboard are not like on _Queenscrown_. You’d best stay close to our shipmates, Miss.”

Sansa nodded, secretly pleased at his use of the words ‘our.’ It made her feel like she was accepted as a part of the _Queenscrown_.

“Yes, Mr. Clegane, I will heed your words. Tell me…was it Captain Baratheon or his mate that beat the men he had punished?” she asked in her innocence.

“The Captain? No, miss. That’s the bosun’s duty or his mates. Except this here ship ain’t got no bosun of its own nor mates neither with that bloody fool in charge so it falls to this old dog to do the deed.”

“Oh! I didn’t know,” she said with embarrassment.

He chuckled and said, “I reckon the things you don’t know about life aboard could fill many a book, Miss Stark, but then I never could speak a word of foreign, so you’ve got me there.”

Once on deck, Sansa stood uncertainly. Jon was talking with the captain. She wasn’t sure if she was going to be permitted on the quarterdeck or not. Captain Baratheon was so fastidious about things and full of his pride. Despite his gentlemanly readiness to hand his small cabin over to her, she didn’t want to presume. Jon noticed her and smiled. The captain then doffed his hat to her and started pacing the windward side of the small quarterdeck. Jon walked over and escorted her to the leeward side.

“I wasn’t sure where I was welcome,” she said quietly by Jon’s side as they began pacing back and forth.

“I’m not sure he has much concept of the word ‘welcome.’ He’s not…well, you can walk with me here anyway.” He rubbed his hands over his face. As they made their turn, he continued, “Stannis has insisted that you be accompanied while on deck by myself or Davos. I’ve never met a man that seems to loathe and mistrust women so. Perhaps he thinks you’ll run down to the magazine and blow us all up if you’re not watched,” he finished darkly with a laugh.

He had not really been whispering and, when Sansa saw Captain Baratheon’s head whip around at Jon’s laughter, she stifled her own. It didn’t seem like Jon to speak so where he might be heard either.

“I don’t think he likes you laughing on deck.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s not permitted here either,” he said as he started snickering again. He stopped though and stood still before he said, “My apologies, Miss Stark. It has been a very long couple of days with very little sleep. I am not quite myself, I find.”

“You should be below resting then.”

“Yes…doesn’t that sound nice? I’m on duty though. Besides, I wouldn’t want you left below indefinitely while I sleep. Davos…Dr. Seaworth is busy. And I am so pleased to see you finally, Sansa, that I would gladly pass another…um, what I meant to say…I’m sorry, Miss Stark,” he finished uncertainly before changing the subject. “Have you been comfortable enough below?”

Sansa started to reply that she most certainly had not been but then she took note of the dark circles under his eyes, the way he was paler than normal and the three days’ scruff on his chin and she only nodded and said, “Yes, Mr. Snow.”

And with that she took his arm and smiled at him. He looked quite pleased by that and smiled widely in return. _I only wish to make you smile, dear man_.

Not long after she was returned to the cabin, there was a very ugly scene between Jon and the captain. She could not hear what all was said but both men’s voices were raised in a passion and Dr. Seaworth was there trying to bring calm again.

The wind picked up again later that night and another storm struck as Sansa was finishing her solitary supper once more in the captain’s quarters. She watched as the meal went sliding across the table and to the floor before she could reach it. She got down to try and pick up her mess when lightning lit the room around her, bright as midday, and the most enormous clap of thunder she had ever heard shattered around her at the same moment. It was immediately followed by a great deal of bawling on deck and the sound of many feet rushing about. Sansa could hear the cattle forward bellowing in their fear and misery and she heartily felt like joining them. She pushed herself into the corner as the ship was capering about like a wild horse. She wrapped her arms around her legs and sobbed alone in the dark longing for dry land with all her might.

 

* * *

 

Jon was soon to be relieved and was looking forward to a much need nap in his hammock, after having seen Sansa returned to her ‘cage’ as Clegane was calling it, when this latest folly had started.

“He told you to flog Tollett? Edd Tollett? Captain Mormont’s cox’n?” Jon asked Clegane again to be certain he had heard properly. _Surely, I did not hear him properly_.

“Aye, sir. Said I was to carry out the punishment at once,” Clegane answered as he grasped the bag that held the cat.

“But Tollett is not one of his men. He’s my man and under my command.”

“Aye, sir, but he is captain aboard this ship and we all answer to him here.”

“He already had you flog five of his men this morning for trifling matters!” he shouted before reminding himself he was on the quarterdeck and speaking aloud here was as good as making a public address to the crew. Mr. Clegane just gave him a completely nonplussed look and shrugged. “I will speak with him. Keep the cat in the bag for a moment, Mr. Clegane.”

“Aye, sir…won’t do any good though,” the older man mumbled as Jon turned to leave.

Jon was furious as he went in search of Stannis. According to Clegane, Edd Tollett had neglected to tie off the boats in the manner that Captain Baratheon preferred. When Stannis’s young and inexperienced mate had rudely called Tollett, a man with nearly 20 years at sea, a lubber and criticized his work, Tollett had responded, “Let me show you how we do things man-o-war fashion, cully.”

Perhaps he should not had spoken to the mate that way but in principal it should fall to Jon to punish his man’s insolence if it could really be considered that. He had found Stannis in the gunroom and immediately lodged his complaint. The discussion soon became heated though and Jon’s temper, worn thin by his fatigue, got the best of him. He had been speaking most intemperately when Davos joined them.

“Don’t you presume to tell me how to run my ship, boy! I’ve been at sea for 30 years, ten times as long as you. If you were a midshipman of mine, I’d have you turned over that gun for the way you are talking to me now!”

“I am _not_ your midshipman though and for that I thank God! Furthermore, I am acting lieutenant for Captain Mormont so I will listen to no more threats of being turned over any guns. As for you, Captain Baratheon, I have never met a more power mad, self-righteous…”

“Gentlemen, please!” Davos had interrupted before Jon could thoroughly throw his career away in the heat of the moment. “Let us talk civilly about this matter or not at all.”

In the end, Stannis had got his way of course. Naval hierarchy was what it was. He was captain aboard and answerable to no one but God aboard his ship. Edd had submitted to his dozen without a word of complaint and Clegane has carried out his duty and flogged the coxswain as impartially as he would’ve flogged any man. When Jon went to visit Tollett in the sick berth and expressed his regret that he had not been able to stop it, Edd had treated him with a tenderness that made Jon feel even worse as he was not truly the injured party.

“It’s alright, sir. No need to go on about it. I like to think I can take a dozen as well as the next man and not go crying about it. I know you did what you could.”

“You’ll heal just fine, Tollett,” Davos then said. “And you, Mr. Snow, you must remember that here Captain Baratheon is in charge. If you speak so foolishly again, regardless of the provocation, it may well hurt your chances of advancement. He could easily bring up charges of insubordination from your words alone this afternoon.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Jon concurred sullenly and returned to this duty.

Jon was on deck that night as the storm hit. The men were going about their duties as rapidly as possible. When the lightning struck the bowsprit, there was already a period of intense emergency to secure the mainsail that had come loose at the same moment. The captain’s orders were competent and barked out clearly and Jon was grateful to acknowledge again that the man was a seaman at least. As Jon and Mr. Clegane were working to secure the bowsprit that threatened to endanger the ship with a small party of men, the Francines were busy trying to secure the heavy, flapping sail that was wildly blowing in the wind and making the ship difficult to steer. There was some danger of foundering, of broaching to in the rough seas and the men were focused on their tasks. Now was not the time to harass them but, unfortunately, that was exactly what their captain was doing.

“Move faster, you lubberly dogs! The last man off the yardarm gets a dozen!”

It was the most ridiculous threat but with Stannis is was never just a threat. The last man off the yardarm would necessarily have been the first man out on it. Such zeal in these conditions was not to be rewarded with threats and punishment but that is exactly what the fool was doing. Jon shook his head and returned to his own work.

Three days and nights with little sleep were affecting him. He’d had about four hours of sleep in the early morning hours before he was informed of Captain Baratheon’s conditions regarding Sansa being allowed on deck. He’d had perhaps ten hours of sleep in the last 72 hours…he’d passed out before his head hit the pillow but it’d not been nearly enough and his head had been fuzzy all day. The aggravations from earlier combined with lack of sleep were effecting his judgement as well it would appear if his behaviour in the gunroom that afternoon was any indication.

 _Just throw everything away next time, Jon. Go ahead and strike the ass and then you can be confined to quarters until your court martial and forced to tell Uncle Benjen how you_ _threw away your career_.

But now, he had to focus his tired mind or he’d end up dead. By arms and legs, he hung off the bowsprit as Clegane and his men passed the rope to him, half drowned every time the ship sunk down the backside of a wave into the sea. _If I let go of my hold, I will be lost. There would be no way they could rescue me_ , he thought as he tightened his grip. He held his breath once more as he went under and then would work on tying off what Old Selmy passed to him when the ship rose again.

When he came aft again soaking wet and his hair hanging about his face, the men on deck were quite. The mainsail had been secured but the atmosphere was curious considering the storm still raged around them.

“Where is Captain Baratheon? Where is his mate?” Jon asked the man at the wheel.

“Don’t know, sir,” the man answered.

They were all Francines aft and they all stood about woodenly with a glassy look in their eyes.

“Did he go below?”

“Don’t know, sir,” another man answered.

Jon instructed a boy to go seek the captain and his mate. The boy returned shortly to report Stannis was not below, nor was his mate.

“Was he…could he have been washed over the side?” he asked. No answer. “Does anyone know where the captain and his mate are?”

“Don’t know, sir,” another man said then with the same artificial expression of ignorance.

And in that moment, Jon knew it was the only response he would ever receive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much romance in this one but setting up for next chapter. Hope you enjoyed it though.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa attempts to help Jon study and finds a curious book in Captain Baratheon's cabin. Jon deals with the demands of being in charge and worries over Sansa and a few of the men under his command. He also wishes to express his feelings for Sansa to her despite considering himself beneath her regard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning-this chapter includes a brief scene featuring Sansa being threatened with rape and murder. The men making the threats meet a violent end.

“Your ship is caught in stays while attempting to tack near shore and is in dire peril. What do you do and how would you do it?” she asked, trying very hard to maintain a serious expression this time.

“I would club haul her…meaning I would let go the lee anchor to hold the ship while the sails are set on the new tack. That one was too easy. Try and find something more difficult for me,” he said while rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

“Alright…what is a smiting line?” she asked after spotting the term in the book before her.

“A line by which a sail stoppered with yarns is broken out from the deck,” he responded at once, obviously pleased with himself.

“What in Heaven’s name does that even mean?” she asked as she laughed once more. He rolled his eyes and was obviously growing irritated. She stifled her laughter more quickly this time but she was certain her eyes were still twinkling with merriment. He didn’t look put out for long though as he soon started grinning as she had hoped he would. “I’m sorry, Jon. I said I would help you study for your examination and I am doing abysmally.”

“It’s alright, Sansa,” he answered, though he still looked over his shoulder when he spoke her Christian name like this. “I’m sure it all sounds ridiculous and confusing to a landsman…or a lady.”

“It’s not a bit ridiculous but I confess that very little of it makes much sense to me. I can’t imagine what it would be like to have a trio of unpleasant captains throwing these questions at you and expecting immediate answers.”

“I’m trying hard not to imagine it at the moment. Perhaps I’ll picture you in front of me when they’re asking the questions when I sit before them…I mean, I’ll picture it’s you asking me the…uh, questions. It would make me more comfortable to imagine you…um…if you understand me,” he stammered out at last, rolling his eyes in his frustration at himself this time. She smiled to herself. _He is so very dear when he’s flustered_.

They had been sitting at the table side by side in the small gunroom for the last hour as she tested him with questions from the ‘Practical Seamanship’ book she had purchased in Gibraltar. All of his books he could have been studying were still aboard the _Queenscrown_. He would have to be on deck shortly to stand watch. He was the commander of the _Francine_ for the time being as Captain Baratheon had apparently been lost at sea during the violent storm two night ago but there were not enough officers aboard for him to simply stand by and command. He had to stand watch as well.

He was worn quite thin with worry and labor and it pained Sansa to see him so. When he had mentioned with regret that he had nothing to study and no time for studying, she had readily offered to help and suggested they could have a question-and-answer session while they ate their supper. It had been a pleasant change to stop eating alone every meal and instead eat in the gunroom most meals with Jon or Dr. Seaworth. Tonight, Dr. Seaworth was sitting with a Francine though that had been injured during the last storm and needed watching. She was glad for this time to be alone with him but it made it difficult to focus on asking him study questions at times.

The study session had started off well enough but some of the seamen’s terms were so strange to her ear. As he continued to rattle off his answers with such a sweet and self-satisfied smile, she couldn’t help but giggle a bit and he had swiftly come to realize the entire exercise was causing her some amusement. She didn’t want him to think she was laughing at him in a mean-spirited way though…she would never do that.

She looked over at him as he was tracing his finger through a small bit of wine that had spilled on the table during dinner. He had a serious look on his face as though he was contemplating something important and it looked as though he was tracing the letter ‘S’ with the wine. Sansa tried to apply herself to thinking up another question.

“What’s a Jonah’s lift?” she asked finally.

“A Jonah’s lift?” he asked, drawn from his private reflections. “Um…that’s an expression seamen will use for when an unpopular man, a Jonah, is given a shove over the side. That’s not in the book, is it?” he asked with a knitted brow as he pulled the book from her hand to look.

“No, it’s not in the book. But surely, you’re wrong though. I heard a couple of seamen saying it earlier today regarding Captain Baratheon.”

She saw his eyes widen and then without warning he grasped a hand with one of his and put his other hand at the back of her head, pulling her in close. He leaned in and Sansa was certain her heart had stopped when she felt his breath against her cheek.

“Don’t speak of it again, Sansa. Alright? Forget you heard the term,” he whispered.

The thrill of excitement she had felt at him being this close…she’d been certain he was about to kiss her…was still rolling through her as she began to process his words. And his tone was troubling.

“But…” she began.

“He wasn’t washed overboard,” he breathed in her ear. “They threw him and his mate over, Sansa. They’re not all bad men aboard, most of them are good, but I’d wager that three to five of them committed murder two nights ago and the others are probably aware of it. Seamen hate an informer though more than anything and they’ll never give another up. And he was a tyrant who did not breed much love from the men he commanded. Now, I have to get us safely back to Gibraltar with a crew I cannot completely trust to back me as commander.”

“But Dr. Seaworth, Mr. Clegane or Selmy…”

“Are in the same position as me. They may support me but all of my men from _Queenscrown_ together are not even a fourth of the crew. And, I’ve your safety to consider as well.”

“But to sail along with murderers…”

“Will be nothing new to me. Plenty of criminals are pressed into the service. When we return to Gibraltar, I will express my concerns and beliefs to the admiral there but not before then. Do you understand? _Not before then_ ,” he finished in deadly earnest.

“I understand,” she whispered.

He leaned back and let go of her hand and straightened. It was time for him to head up on deck but before he left he said, “Would you mind returning to your quarters now?”

It was more of an order than a request she realized. He had not come out and said so before but she now realized that he did not trust the crew…and he did not trust the crew with her. She nodded and allowed him to escort her to the cabin. She would stay there as he bid if it would cause him less worry.

 

Sansa lay in the swinging cot an hour later trying to get comfortable as she ruminated over the things Jon had told her. The storm had blown them off course and the winds since then had been contrary. He still hoped to make Gibraltar in ten days’ time and at least food and water were not an issue. She worried over the strain he was taking on being in command unexpectedly with no officers other than Mr. Clegane to support him. Dr. Seaworth was all well and good but he was a physician first and foremost and was not there to sail the ship or command the men.

As Sansa tossed and turned in Captain Baratheon’s uncomfortable cot, she realized that she was uncomfortable because something was jabbing her in the shoulder, something under the thin mattress. She climbed out of the cot and lifted the mattress and there was a thin folio, perhaps half an inch thick with Arabic writing on the front. _Why would he_ _have this? He didn’t speak Arabic. I highly doubt he could read it._ Sansa could not read Arabic either but when she opened the book she gasped and realized that no reading was required. Every page was filled with colored in sketches of men and women…doing things…to each other…with no clothes on. Sansa felt her cheeks flush and she closed the book instantly. _That dirty old lecherous dog_ , she thought at first. She stuffed the folio back under the mattress but decided that just led her back to the original problem. She removed the book and stuck it in the desk drawer. _There. It is his desk. No one will think anything of it being there_. But then Sansa remembered that Jon occasionally consulted Captain Baratheon’s personal log which he had left in the desk. Furthermore, Jon knew that she had been in the desk to secure paper and ink for them on more than one occasion. _If Jon sees it, he’ll know I’ve seen it_. Sansa thought of taking it to him or Dr. Seaworth even to say she had found it and wanted the vile thing removed from her sight. _Yes, that’s exactly what I’ll do. But it’s late now so perhaps tomorrow_. Sansa meant to place the book on the desk but as she climbed back in her cot, she found that she held it still. The lamp hanging by her cot gave plenty enough light for a little reading before sleep…or looking anyway.

 

* * *

 

“Selmy…what is that smell?” Jon asked, crinkling his nose on deck.

“The cattle, sir. Damned beasts don’t know enough to go use the heads like the rest of us. With the storms, we’ve not been able to muck out the manger thoroughly.”

“Well, at least it isn’t me that reeks then,” Jon said with a snort.

“Can’t say I’d be inclined to go out of my way if I were the poor beasts,” Tollett chimed in. “All this tossing and turning aboard only to get ate at the end of their travels.”

“Yes, thank you, Edd,” Jon said trying not to start laughing. “I suppose we should see to mucking out the manger then. Put a couple of men on it please, Mr. Selmy.”

“Aye-aye, sir. I know just the pair,” the old man said as he eyed two Francines.

Jon stumbled to his cot shortly after as Selmy had relieved him on deck. He had named the old man a petty officer along with two of the Francines that he trusted to give him and Mr. Clegane some relief. For the past two nights now he’d enjoyed more sleep than the previous nights but still no more than four hours at a time. _Tonight, I should be able to_ _sleep all night though_. The anxiety of command was something he was adjusting to but it was far more comfortable to be under orders than in charge, he reflected. The men were what concerned him most. It was only a handful that he truly considered a threat but, if they could talk some of their simpler shipmates into something rash, it could turn out badly… _and bloody_.

This handful of men were causing him concern over Sansa as well. He didn’t like the way their eyes followed her when she was on deck. Rast and Tanner were the worst offenders it seemed. And they were the two that Selmy had sent to clean out the manger. _Perhaps I should’ve said something…no, I didn’t want to contradict the old man on deck when he_ _had the watch. It won’t hurt them any and I’m certain they’ve had equally undesirable though perhaps not as smelly tasks assigned in the past_.

He tried to reassure himself that he was mistaken about the way they looked at Sansa. It was natural enough for men to wish to look at her. She was a woman, a beautiful young woman, and _any_ woman would attract men’s looks when she was the only woman around for miles and miles of blue sea. What bothered him were how bold their looks were. There was none of the deference the _Queenscrown_ men properly showed her as a young lady. There was little of the respectful but distant admiration that was expected in this sort of situation, at least that was what he thought. They eyed her openly and hungrily like Drogo Bey but neither of them were Turkish rulers and it fell to him to keep them in check.

As he lay there swinging in this cot, he thought of his evening spent in Sansa’s company. He had wanted to admit his feelings to her as he ran his finger through the wine on the table but then she’d asked that question and brought his worries back to mind. He had decided to stop any pretense of denial to himself though when it came to how he felt about her…if he’d ever really tried.

He was in love with her. It wasn’t just attraction or desire. It wasn’t just that she was sweet and kind and made him feel special when she spoke with him. He loved her body and soul and would do anything to keep her safe and make her happy. His heart felt that it would burst with the joy of loving her while it simultaneously felt like it was breaking. Breaking because his circumstances were the same as they had ever been. What he had felt from the very start of this was that he was not good enough for her. _She_ made him feel like he was good enough for her but he knew what society would think. He was a Frenchman’s bastard, the bastard nephew of a querulous and minor lord and not even a commissioned officer in the navy yet. Her father was knighted and a respected army officer. And, though the Starks were certainly in trade which might make his Uncle Brandon look down his nose at them, they were known to be _extremely_ well off. It had been rumored in Gibraltar that Robb Stark would have an income of over 5,000 a year when his father passed. It had also been rumored that the lovely Miss Stark might bring a dowry of 10,000 pounds… _not that any man who wasn’t a bloody fool would have to have money_ _given to him to accept her_. For all his aristocratic pride, Jon didn’t think his uncle would look down on that but Jon didn’t have any fortune to inherit at all.

He would’ve taken Sansa in a heartbeat with no dowry whatsoever but he couldn’t stomach the idea of her family thinking he was some sort of fortune hunter…or Sansa perhaps feeling that way about him. But neither would he condemn her to indigence in some small rented rooms in Portsmouth or Plymouth while he sailed away for months or even years at a time. His uncle would eventually remarry and produce an heir and Jon would have little if anything to inherit there. If he were able to pass his examination and become a commissioned officer, he’d have his pay to support him and nothing else. And if he found himself ashore with no ship, he’d only receive half of that pay. It seemed well enough to him before he met Sansa but he knew it’d never be enough to support a young lady like her in the lifestyle she deserved.

 

When he woke, it was fully day. Despite the heartache of being with her and knowing he would never have her, he still sought her out as soon as he was presentable. It was not fair to keep her below decks at all times and he hoped she would enjoy taking the air with him this morning. He knocked on the cabin door and thought he had heard her bid him to enter. As he opened the door though, she leapt back from Captain Baratheon’s desk with a shriek.

“Miss Stark? I’m sorry if I surprised you. I thought you bade me to enter.”

“I did! I’m sorry! I was surprised…um…is it time for breakfast then?”

“Did Tollett not bring you yours yet?”

“Oh, right. He did a while ago. Shall we go on deck?” she asked then with a wild look in her eye. _Like she’s been caught doing something wrong_ , instinct whispered.

She was acting strange and nervous. Jon couldn’t puzzle out what could be the matter. She didn’t seem like she was upset to see him though. It was almost as though she was trying to hide something from him, something at the desk.

“I came here to ask if you’d like to take the air but I need to check Captain Baratheon’s log a moment,” he said calmly, as though he weren’t inventing his words on the spot.

“Oh…NO!!! You can’t!” she shouted leaping between him and the desk with her hands raised.

“I can’t? Sansa, what’s gotten into you?”

“I’m sorry,” she said meekly then and lowered her eyes. “Of course, you can. You’re the captain here…let me get it for you.”

She walked back round the desk but Jon was far too curious as to what she was so obviously trying to hide now. He rapidly came around the other side of desk in the small cabin as she opened the drawer. She slammed it shut when she realized he was there next to her.

“Sansa?” Her face was turning the most vivid red, nearly as red as her hair.

“Please don’t…” she pleaded.

“Don’t what?” he asked as he pried her fingers off the drawer and opened the desk. Inside, on top of all of Stannis’s papers, was a book he’d not noticed before. It had Arabic script on the cover. “What is this?”

Sansa wasn’t answering now. She stood there in her blue dress, sweetly biting her lip again in that way that drove him wild and still flushed as red as a tomato all the way down her throat and chest. Jon picked up the book and flipped it open. His eyes widened and his own cheeks grew hot then before he cleared his throat.

“Oh…um…this belonged to Captain Baratheon, I believe,” he said at last.

“Yes,” she said in a barely audible whisper.

“Well then…”

“I found it last night. I wasn’t sure what to do with it.”

“I’m sorry you had to see such a thing. I’ll dispose of it for you,” he said thinking she must certainly be disgusted by it.

“I…Jon, wait…are those pictures…can man and woman…can people really do those things?” she stammered out helplessly and gestured to the open page without really looking at it or him.

The particular page indicated showed a woman with her mouth on a man’s cock and Jon flushed redder remembering all too well that man and woman could certainly ‘do those things.’

“I’m…Sansa, this is hardly…yes,” he choked out at last.

“I was…I was curious when I found it last night and I, uh…well, the pictures make it look…um, pleasant…” she said wistfully, still not meeting his eye.

“I suppose it is,” he said flustered beyond belief now. _I’m standing here next to the woman I love, looking at this obscene picture book and it is the most uncomfortable I’ve ever_ _felt._

“It’s almost like a dream sometimes. This voyage doesn’t seem quite real to me,” she sighed and Jon realized she was looking at him now. She turned the page to a picture of a woman astride a man, riding his cock while his mouth was on her breasts. A low growl escaped his throat as he looked from the picture to Sansa standing there looking at him inquiringly. “The places we’ve been…the people…all the new things I’ve seen. It could be a dream…something not quite real. It’s like floating along in some sort of daydream for me. Do you ever feel the same? When we’re together…it’s almost as though…we wouldn’t even have to acknowledge it,” she said finally in a whisper as she stepped closer.

_She wants me, too_ , he thought with wonder and longing. He knew what the proper thing to do was. He knew he should probably step away, should pretend this wasn’t happening but he could bear no more of the proper thing. _Duty and honor be damned for a minute or two_ , he thought as he turned towards her and pulled her into his arms.

His lips were less than a foot from hers when he murmured, “It is like a dream, Sansa. None of it need be real, unless you wish it to be so.”

And he lowered his lips to hers. At long last, he tasted those soft, warm lips that had haunted him for so many nights now… _since the night we met_. He pulled her in more tightly to hold her to him. Her waist was small yet firm beneath his hands and her soft curves felt so right against him. She let out a quiet moan as he held her and Jon feared he might explode in his breeches with that sound alone. The soft, chaste kiss he had pressed to her lips was suddenly not enough. He angled his head to kiss her mouth more deeply and one of her hands rose up to clutch his shoulder while another ran through his hair, loosening the curls from his queue. He raised his own hands to feel her silky red hair slipping through his fingers at last and found it even softer than he had imagined.

But just as Jon swiped her bottom lip with his tongue to beg for entrance to her mouth, there was a knock at the door. They broke apart swiftly and the dream dissolved. Jon ran a hand through his hair and shoved the book back in Stannis’s desk drawer and called out for whoever was at the door, whoever it was that he dearly wanted to flog at the moment, to enter. It was Tollett coming to say that the lookout had reported a sail in the distance and Selmy was asking him to come on deck to take a look. Jon acknowledged him and told him he’d be up shortly.

He turned back to her. She was flushed with embarrassment but passion, too. He had to tell her how he felt now even though he trembled to admit it aloud.

“Sansa, I love you...”

“I know…I feel the same,” she said. Her smile was radiant, her eyes shining with happiness and it killed him to speak again.

“This can’t be though, don’t you see? I’m a bastard. I’ve no fortune. I’ve nothing to offer you but my love. Your father would never consent…”

Her smile died on her lips and the light slowly left her eyes. “Was it only a dream then? Am I not worth fighting for?” she finally said sadly.

“I…of course you are! I didn’t mean…Sansa, I don’t know what to do. I always say the wrong thing and I…” He groaned in frustration. _Why can’t I ever get it right? Why must I_ _forever be tripping over my own tongue_? “Sansa, would you really be willing to…” he started to say as there was another knock at the door. “I…I must go on deck. Please wait here…forgive me,” he said as he bowed and hurriedly left the cabin, trying not to let hope bloom that she would really be content with him…or that her father would ever agree.

 

* * *

 

 

_He loves me_ , she thought. _He loves me but not enough…not enough to act like Papa would’ve. If he only knew_ …

Sansa stood alone in the cabin. Her heart was aching and she couldn’t stand to be here another moment. He had kissed her and held her the way she had wanted him to do for so long now. But then he had ran off to his duty again. Sansa was tired of him running away. He had come to take her on deck but then he’d fled after kissing her…after telling her he loved her. _Very well. I can make my own way on deck. I will not run from_ him _at least_.

Sansa strode through the door and out into the gunroom. She passed the marine sentry that stood at the doorway and headed forward through the gloom of the lower deck and towards the ladder that would lead her above. _Everyone else must be on deck to see the strange sail_. Just as she put her hand on the ladder to climb, a hand shot out from the dark and grasped her wrist. Sansa started to scream as another hand clamped over her mouth and she was pulled up against someone. She was drug away from the ladder and further from where the marine stood until she was by the hatchway to the hold.

“Going somewhere, little lady?” a man asked in her ear. He smelled of rum, sweat and manure. His hands were griping her tightly, hurting her. Sansa’s eyes were wide as she tried to scream into his hand.

“I think she’s trying to say something, Rast,” another man said nearby with a dark chuckle.

“Such a sweet little miss, Tanner. Wonder what she’s doing out of her cage all alone though. Did Mr. Snow get his fill already? I’ll bet he enjoys tasting your sweetness when you’re alone together in the captain’s cabin, eh? Do you let him lick your sweet teats and cunt?” the first man asked.

Sansa shook her head and tried to pull away. He only held her tighter.

“I’ll bet he does. I’ll bet the lieutenant has dined on this scrumptious little feast while we’ve dined on stringy beef and stale bread and shoveled shit half the night,” the man, Tanner, said. “Come on, Rast. Down in the hold with her. No one will hear. You hold her for me and I’ll hold her for your turn.”

“It seems a shame to slit her pretty throat when we’re done.” Sansa’s eyes went wide with terror.

“Now why’d you go scare her, Rast? And I told you, you bloody fool, can’t let her go crying to her friends after.”

Sansa was crying and thrashing now but Rast was just too strong and she couldn’t break free. They shoved her towards the hatchway that led to the hold.

“What the bloody hell is going on here?!” Mr. Clegane’s shouted in a voice made of brass. “Mr. Snow! Marines! Ahoy, there!”

“Scag him!” Rast yelled and Tanner went after Mr. Clegane with his knife. But Mr. Clegane was quick for such a large man and avoided the blade well enough. He closed one hand around Tanner’s throat and lifted him two feet off the deck.

“Thought you’d play with the little bird, did you?”

“Clegane?” Jon was calling from above. “What is it?”

“Down here!” he answered as he shook Tanner by the throat like a terrier with a rat.

Rast let go of Sansa’s mouth and pulled his knife. “I’ll slit her throat,” he said as Sansa let out a scream.

“Think so, do you?” Mr. Clegane answered with a cruel smile as he threw the motionless Tanner to the ground.

“I think not,” said Jon’s voice behind her as Rast made a noise between a gasp and a grunt, followed by an awful gurgling sound.

Sansa felt the arm around her waist go slack and the knife at her throat clattered to the deck. She spun and there was Jon with his sword through the seamen’s throat. He pulled out the sword and dropped it as she started to collapse.

“Fetch the doctor for her, Clegane!” he shouted as he caught her and lifted her up. He carried her back to the cabin and laid her on the cot.

She was sobbing uncontrollably now and she clung to him fiercely. “Jon…please don’t leave me again,” she cried.

“I won’t, not ever! Sansa, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that happened. I shouldn’t have left you after I told you I loved you. If I’d just stayed and not ran off…I’m so sorry. I’ll never leave you again, Sansa…I love you.” She only cried harder at that and he pulled her up against his chest. “I’ll get you home, safe and sound, I promise,” he said then as he put his hands to her face, tipping it up to his. He kissed her forehead and Sansa leaned up to kiss his lips then.

“Jon…I love you,” she said after the kiss.

“Sansa…if you want…if you’ll have me, we’ll find a way. I have no money…nothing but my career and I may be away for months at a time but if you wish it, I am yours. You have my heart regardless, now and always.”

“Truly, Jon?” she asked burying her face back in his chest.

“Truly, my love,” he answered wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. “I’ll speak to your father as soon as I am granted leave. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove myself worthy of you if it means I’ve some chance to convince him. I’ll do anything in my power to make you happy, dearest girl.”

She pulled back from him once more to look at him, at his sweet and earnest expression. She was smiling through her tears now just as Dr. Seaworth came through the cabin door in a fluster to attend to her hurts. _There are no more hurts_ , she thought happily as Jon did not let go when Dr. Seaworth cleared his throat. He simply held her to him, stroking her hair and whispering sweet words to her even as the doctor stood there clearly shocked by this display.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa return to Gibraltar and meet with some unexpected developments.

The ship’s log made no mention of the manner of their deaths. It simply recorded that the earthly remains of Ordinary Seamen Rast and Tanner had gone over the side at 39 degrees Latitude, North and 1 degree Longitude, East and Jon scratched out DD, Discharged Dead, with his quill next to their names on the ship’s muster. He noted the information in the same dry prose used to record that upon opening, the last cask of beef was spoilt. Dr. Seaworth suggested the cask had probably sailed to the West Indies and back at least three times and presented some rather interesting finds in the way of rot and mold. Jon felt his stomach turn just remembering it. Rast and Tanner had gone over the side sewn into their hammocks with a round shot apiece at their feet. Jon had been grateful in a way that there had been a misunderstanding between the sailmaker and his mates and Mr. Clegane. Another strange sail had been sighted just after daybreak that next morning and in their haste to clear the ship for action, Mr. Clegane had suggested that perhaps they should just toss the bodies overboard and the sailmaker and his mates had complied. The strange sail turned out to be a British schooner but Jon was glad that he had not had to speak the expected words over their bodies as acting captain. Just the thought of that made his stomach turn even more than the rotten cask of ancient beef.

Since then the ship’s people had seemed more content. Perhaps she was not really what would be termed a ‘happy ship’ yet but at least the men were getting to know him and he was getting to know them. They were a good crew overall, barring a few rotten apples, and they in turn had learned that he was a competent and taunt officer but no tyrant like Stannis. As he sat in the small cabin this morning updating the log, he reflected on what lay ahead. They were likely less than two days sail from Gibraltar now if the winds held steady. Soon, Sansa would be returned to her father and siblings and Jon would hopefully find the _Queenscrown_ there so he could report to his captain and take up his place aboard again. Being in command for an extended period and under trying circumstances may have been a good experience for him as an officer but it was utterly wearing and he longed to be back under the orders of his captain again… _for now at least_. He hoped that _Queenscrown_ would be staying in Gibraltar for a while. He would go to Sir Eddard and ask for his daughter’s hand as soon as he was allowed ashore but he hoped he wouldn’t have to sail away as soon as he gained that man’s consent…if he gained his consent. If he did not, he wondered if he would find it in himself to be as bold as her father had been as a younger man. He also hoped that he would find an examination board sitting soon so that perhaps he would have a commission as lieutenant to buoy his suitability as a husband to Sansa.

Davos had been surprisingly tolerant of the change in relations between him and Sansa. And although he had reminded Jon… _more than once_ …to not overstep certain boundaries of propriety with her, he had been willing to allow them brief… _very brief_ …moments alone together since Jon had admitted to the older man his plans to ask for her hand in marriage. Davos had been quite amused in fact at how ‘besotted’ they were with one another, causing Jon no small amount of vexation.

In front of the rest of the crew naturally, they were the same as ever towards one another. She was Miss Stark and he was Mr. Snow. He showed her all the respect a young lady deserved but never presumed to touch her or press any endearments on her where others might see or hear. In those brief moments… _far too brief in Jon’s opinion_ …where they were alone, he would often be content to hold her hand or press a kiss to her cheek if he thought no one was likely to barge in at that moment. Her sweet smiles and eager acceptance of his affections filled him with rapture and he dearly hoped to make her his wife as soon as possible.

 

They were presently alone in the cabin this forenoon as Dr. Seaworth was making his rounds. His quill stopped scratching across the paper and he looked up at Sansa sitting on the cot looking at a book. He smirked when he realized what book she was looking at. _Such a wonderfully curious girl_.

“I thought we were supposed to dispose of that,” he chuckled.

“We certainly should, Mr. Snow. It is disgusting and lewd,” she said primly before continuing, “But the drawings and coloring are so well done. It seems to me that such artistic talent shouldn’t be dismissed too readily. It is certainly the only reason I am drawn to looking at it,” she said with a mischievous grin.

He rose from the desk and walked towards her, trying hard to keep a serious look on his face…and failing. Sansa slammed the book shut and started blushing furiously.

“What particular pictures were you…admiring then? I’m sure the artist’s skill must have been impressive to absorb you so,” he said as he deftly lifted it from her hands and thumbed through the pages.

Sansa rose to stand next to him with a sweet, shy smile, which he found quite endearing considering what they were looking at.

“This one,” she pointed as she turned to the page. “I was admiring this one.”

The image was of a man taking a woman from behind. The woman’s face was well drawn to illustrate complete ecstasy from her mouth hanging open to her eyes closed in bliss. She was drawn completely nude. The man was only partially visible with his hands on the woman’s hips and his head resting against her shoulder. Now, Jon was the one blushing but he couldn’t help but be amazed at this mysterious and fascinating woman standing next to him who was willing to be his wife. _Such an intoxicating blend of innocence,_ _curiosity and boldness_.

“Jon…” Sansa said as she took the book from his hand and placed it on the cot. “When we are married…”

“Yes, Sansa?” he queried, making the bold move of placing his hands at her waist while hoping for a kiss.

 _“On deck, there! Sail, two points off the starboard bow!”_ he heard the look-out’s cry clearly even though they were below. He gave a frustrated groan at pleasure delayed as he grabbed his telescope.

“You should hide that,” he said with a grin before pulling her hand up for a quick kiss. He pulled on his hat and headed up on deck.

“Sir!” Mr. Clegane said once he reached the quarterdeck. “Rogers thinks it’s the barky, sir!”

Jon leveled his telescope to look. He looked long and hard even after he was certain. It was indeed the _Queenscrown_ and he was filled with immeasurable relief before he realized with a pang what this might mean. _She’ll be back under Mormont’s protection, no more stolen kisses and pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist_. Perhaps he should be glad of it. Since he had declared his feelings to her, since their first kiss, it was nearly impossible at times to remember himself in her presence. _But, I will miss having her at my side all_ _the same_.

“Very well, Mr. Clegane. Prepare to hoist our number and give the private signal and close her. I’ll be back on deck in a moment.”

“Aye, sir.”

“You have the watch, Mr. Clegane,” Jon said before returning to the cabin to give Sansa the news and make a request.

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa had been returned to Gibraltar aboard the frigate. The captain, officers and sailors had cheered Mr. Snow and the _Francine_ heartily when they had been recognized and then cheered them even more heartily when they learnt that their mission had been successful. Sansa had been treated with the utmost respect and appreciation from everyone aboard for her part in the negotiations and had immediately been moved back to her godfather’s far more spacious cabin. But Jon had been left to sail the store ship the rest of the way to Gibraltar keeping station behind the frigate.

Dr. Seaworth had been returned with her to lament the state of his sickbay and Mr. Clegane had been returned to the frigate as well to thoroughly condemn all his mate’s ‘innovations’ in his absence and to lament the state of his standing rigging after the horrendous storm that _Queenscrown_ had sailed through off the coast of Tunisia. Mr. Snow’s books were sent to him along with Mr. Tarly and a couple of petty officers to allow him more help aboard the store ship and a chance to rest. He had only come aboard once when the captain called him over to give an account of their time in Alda Mehran and the disappearance of Captain Baratheon but they had not had a single moment alone together and he had been forced to return to duty aboard the _Francine_ soon after.

As soon as the anchor was let go, Sansa was rowed ashore in the captain’s barge with Tollett at the tiller and Sir Jeor by her side. She felt as though the frigate gave a nearly audible sigh of relief to see the back of her and perhaps there was some truth in that. She was a different sort of responsibility and anxiety than what they were used to dealing with on a regular basis. Sir Jeor saw her to her home and she was returned to her family at last. Within an hour, it was as if she had never left… _at least to them_.

For Sansa, it was nearly impossible to feel at home here when her heart was still aboard the _Francine_. They hadn’t been able to say good-bye properly or even wave to one another as the store ship was busy with the anxious business of warping in to anchor just as Sansa was already being bundled over the side into the waiting barge. She had managed to send him a brief note via Sam when he had come aboard briefly before he returned to _Francine_.

_Dear Mr. Snow,_

_I hope you will not think me too forward in sending this brief note to you today. I am obliged to Mr. Tarly for agreeing to bring it to you. I am sorry that we may not have an opportunity to say good-bye before I am returned to my family. Please permit me to say how much I appreciate all your respectful concern and tender care while we sailed together and in Alda Mehran. I will never forget my time spent with you on this voyage. I look forward to seeing you again and pray that you will call upon myself and my family as soon as you are granted liberty. Until then, I hope this finds you well._

_With Much Affection,_

_Sansa Stark_

Perhaps it was improper to send the note. Some ladies might have been quite shocked at her for doing so but she knew Jon would never think less of her for it. She hoped he would be pleased by it and not think her tone too formal. She could not bring herself to write all the things she wished to say. She was still a lady after all however much she might glance at a certain book.

 

Sansa sat alone in her room that seemed so small now despite being larger by far than her quarters aboard either ship.

“Sansa?” Arya said from the doorway. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, sister, I am quite well. Why do you ask?”

“You seem sad is all,” the younger girl said moving into her room. 

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

The quick, grey eyes of her sister missed very little. They were as different as chalk and cheese at times but they were sisters and loved one another very much.

“I am a bit sad, Arya.”

“May I ask why?”

“You usually just ask whatever you feel like asking,” Sansa said with a laugh. She cleared her throat before continuing, “I am…I’m happy to be home but sad in a way as well. I…”

“You miss him.”

“Wha…How do you know that?”

“What’s that you’re holding, sister?” Arya said with a grin.

Sansa looked down and blushed to realize that she was holding the lock of his hair he had given her in exchange for the one he had asked for.

“I miss him,” she said with a smile.

“Will he be coming to court you then?”

“Yes,” Sansa answered with a wider smile. “I believe he will.”

“Good, I like him,” Arya said.

“How have things been here?”

“Uneasy. Papa and Gabriel have been quarreling a good deal.”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

“Well…I’ll leave you be for now,” Arya said as she slipped back out the door.

He had come back to the cabin that day and asked for a lock of her hair, saying that they might be parted until Gibraltar. She had allowed him to clip her lock and she had asked for a lock of his. She had then bound the lock of her red hair in a lilac ribbon she cut off of that dress before giving it to him. He had bound the lock of his curly, dark hair in a piece of hemp he found at hand before giving it to her. Sansa ran her finger across it as she sat there and hoped she would see him in a day or two.

 

She was emptying her trunk and trying to think of a proper hiding place for the book she had brought with her from the _Francine_ when she was disturbed to hear shouting downstairs. _Papa…and Gabriel_ , she realized with a pang. She tucked his lock of hair into her bodice and shoved the folio under her mattress before going downstairs to mediate.

“I won’t allow this! I told you that 16 was too young!” her father shouted.

“You let Sansa sail off with a parcel of sailors with no proper chaperone and a bastard in command and you’re still refusing to let me join? I’m only a year younger than Robb was!”

“Gabriel!” Sansa interjected. “I resent you speaking of Mr. Snow in that way. He is the most courteous of gentlemen and my dear friend. What is this about?”

“I’m going to join the regiment! And he’s not going to stop me!” her twin shouted, pointing at their father.

“Son, you must not be so rash. Robb was ready at 17. You are not. The war is not going anywhere anytime soon. Next year…or the year after will be soon enough.”

“ _Next year? The year after?_ Father, you cannot stop me! You cannot keep me here forever. Colonel Brown said he’d take me.”

“Colonel Brown? Colonel…is that the sort of man you want to serve under, boy? Have you lost your mind?”

“I don’t wish to be at odds with you, Father, but I have made up my mind. I’m not a child!”

“You’re _my child_!” their father shouted. He took a breath and spoke more evenly. “When you have a family of your own…”

“I’ll let my sons do the fighting and not send my daughters off to foreign shores and danger.”

“GABRIEL!” Sansa shouted. “That is enough! Apologize to Papa.”

“I’m sorry, Sansa, but I can’t. And I can’t be here anymore,” Gabriel said before he spun on his heel and left the room. The front door slammed soon after. Papa sat down heavily in his chair and ran a hand through his graying hair.

“Papa,” she said gently as she came to put a hand on his shoulder.

“Aren’t you going to run after him? You always run after him when we quarrel,” her father said solemnly.

“No, not this time, Papa.”

“Why ever not?”

“Because you always won the arguments in the past, sir. I don’t think you won this time.”

Her father looked up at her and put his arms around her waist and held her tightly to him. Sansa eyes filled with tears when she realized her father was crying and her twin brother was gone…possibly for good.

 

* * *

 

Jon stood on deck enjoying the morning sun and an opportunity to talk with Grenn. Admiral Defreys, who had been aboard the past hour, had made a special point of coming over to shake Jon by the hand and congratulate him for the success of the mission before being piped back down the side to his waiting barge.

“Did he bring any mail out with him, Jon?” Grenn had asked once the admiral was gone and as they paced the deck together.

“I don’t know. I’m sure Mr. Thorne knows if you care to ask.”

Grenn snickered and said, “No, I think I prefer to wait and see if that’s my option. We missed you here.”

“I missed being here,” Jon admitted.

“And are you missing anything else now?” Grenn asked with an inquisitive look.

“You’ve been talking to Sam, I see.” Jon walked on for a moment before responding at last. “Yes, I am missing her very much. Has the captain mentioned leave yet?”

“Not to us. I’m sure Mr. Thorne knows if you care to ask.”

“Very funny, Mr. Stanley. I think I prefer to wait for the captain to say.”

“Mr. Snow? Captain’s passed the word for you to report to the cabin, sir,” Olly said, taking off his hat.

“Thank you, Mr. Guymon,” Jon said. “Perhaps I’ll find the answer to both our questions,” he said, nodding to Grenn.

Jon saw Mr. Thorne coming out of the cabin with the beloved mail sack in his arms, bawling to his steward to come and fetch it for dispersal.

“Busy day ahead, Mr. Snow,” the premier said gruffly.

“Yes, sir,” Jon responded not quite knowing to what he was referring.

He knocked on the cabin door and was bid to enter. Mormont was sitting at his desk sipping some wine and reading a letter.

“You wished to see me, sir.”

“Yes, forgive me,” Sir Jeor said as he tucked the letter away. “Just a letter from my son.”

“I wasn’t aware you had a son, sir.”

“Well, I do. He’s old enough to be your father though which makes me older still. Anyway, he was dismissed from the service several years ago but we still keep in touch.” Jon looked awkwardly about not knowing what to say to this painful bit of personal information from a man he greatly esteemed. “That’s not why I called you here. I wanted to say again how pleased I am with your efforts in Alda Mehran and your leadership aboard _Francine_. The admiral made mention of it again while he was here. Dr. Seaworth had the greatest praise for your conduct as well.”

 _Well, that is a relief considering_. “Thank you, sir.”

“However, I’m sorry to tell you there won’t be time for you to sit for your examination at present. Defreys brought us orders along with the mail. The admiralty has ordered _Queenscrown_ to assist in the blockade of Toulon. We’ll be sailing at the turn of the tide.”

“But…you can’t mean today, sir?” Jon asked his captain trying to get his heart to still.

“Oh, yes…at once, Mr. Snow. When does the admiralty ever issue orders that they don’t expect ’em done before the damned ink is even dry?” Mormont joked.

“But…”

“Don’t worry. You’ll get your chance for the examination, Snow. Besides, you’ll have more time to study and, if you pass, you’ll get credited with the time since you were appointed acting lieutenant anyway.”

“But we’ll be returning to Gibraltar, sir…at some point, won’t we?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. We may receive orders to sail home before then. We’ll be under the blockade commander’s orders which come from Port Mahon, I believe. It’s much closer to Toulon than the Rock after all. Don’t worry, Mr. Snow. I’ll not forget to mention your admirable service and valiant efforts in bringing fresh beef to the fleet and seeing the _Francine_ safely brought in when I write my official dispatches.”

Jon could barely compose himself to speak. His chest was tight with emotion that he wouldn’t let his captain see but he had to say something.

“Please, sir…may I go ashore at least? For an hour at most…I had…I need to speak with Miss Stark…and her father.”

“Go ashore? Now? No, you may not go ashore! I plan on pulling up anchor within the hour. Thorne nearly swallowed his tongue when I told him to prepare to sail at once and now you’re…” Sir Jeor looked up sharply then. “Miss Stark _and_ her father you say?”

“Please, sir. I can’t just leave without…”

Mormont frowned before continuing, “You aren’t saying…is there concern of…did you…”

“No, sir!” Jon nearly shouted when he realized what the captain was hinting at. “It’s not like that. I’ve not dishonored Miss Stark. I only wished to…”

“Oh, well then…I’m very sorry, young man, but I can’t permit leave for anyone with the ship to sail on such short notice.” His severe expression softened then. “We don’t…it’s a hard service, Jon, but it is what we have chosen as officers. The personal sacrifices we make in the name of our duty may go unappreciated but we must make them all the same. As for Sansa…the mail bag will be going over the side shortly…so if you needed to write…”

“Yes, I need to go write…at once. Thank you, sir,” Jon said as he saluted his captain and left the cabin.

Jon raced to the gunroom and pulled out paper and ink. Davos walked in as Jon was bent over his paper trying to think what he could possibly say to soften the blow. The blow to his own heart was agonizing. He could not stand to think he would be causing her pain as well and so unexpectedly at that. Davos laid a hand on his shoulder prompting Jon to look up.

“I’m sorry, lad. I hope that things will…she’s worth waiting for, Jon. I’m sure she feels the same about you.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” he said, trying not to let emotion overwhelm him.

There would be time for that later in his small cabin when he was alone. He thought of the lock of hair, the note she’d sent and the handkerchief she’d given him the night they had met. Such little things to remember her by, the person who meant all the world to him. Davos left and he bent back over his paper once more.

_My Dear Miss Stark,_

_It is with utmost regret that I write to inform you that_ Queenscrown _sails on the tide, no more than an hour from now, to assist in the blockade of Toulon and I sail with her. I am not permitted liberty to come and wait upon you or your family as I wished. ~~Please know that~~ _

He crossed out the words of the last sentence he had started and shook his head. Now was not the time to fret over propriety and to hold back his feelings. He had no way of knowing what the future held but she would not be left in doubt of what he felt for her.

_Sansa- I love you. Leaving you without even seeing you to say good-bye is the worst pain I have ever known. I will write to your father for permission to write to you, to court you and I beg that you will write to me if your father allows._

_Please keep yourself well, sweet girl. I will think of you by day and pray for you by night. Meeting you was the best thing that has ever happened to me. Please know I want nothing but your happiness._

_I do not know when I will sail to Gibraltar again. I have a duty and I must go where I am sent but my heart would only ask to be at your side once more. I will not blame you if you should decide that you do not wish to wait for me but I will be praying that you will all the same. Be it months or years before we see one another again, I will never forget you. God bless you and keep you, my love._

_Your most humble and devoted servant,_

_Jon Snow_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry? God, that was painful for me to end it that way but I knew when I started this that I would be making it a series. I'll post the first chapter of Part 2 (which I've named 'Between Love and Duty') very soon. Thanks for reading my fic! It has been a joy to write and share.


End file.
